by Nimo Pyle, aged 12Black is the place where depression is swept between people.
Black is the sound of darkness.
Black is the smell when loved ones have died.
Black is the taste of strange disappearances in mid-air.
Black is the feeling of foreverness.
Black is the rich dark colour in which people fear.
Black is the sound of corpses crunching beneath your feet.
Black is the smell of toxic fumes, pollution.
Black is the taste of burning possessions.
Black is the feeling of unexplained figures in the dark.
I love the brazen creativity of youth. If ONLY I could still write with such unabashed freedom and colour. My son wrote this poem some months ago in an English class. They were asked to describe a colour in a variety of senses. It's beautiful as it is, but that fourth line is especially prescient and not a little eerie in the light of recent events. And still the darkness continues ...