Colors have always looked the same
And my rose-tinted view comes from my father.
His comes from his mother,
Whose comes from her father.
Across generations we’ve witnessed,
Colors ebb and flow.
Yet the colors we pass between us
Remain steadfast the same.
Striking poses, striking feet
Across the hard, wooden stage.
History’s colors speak through my hands
My Mudras weaving tales of ancient shades.
Devis, asuras, kings, and queens,
Their colors ring most true.
When I recount their stories,
My grandfather’s voice whispers in echoes
To my grandmother who whispers
To my father who whispers
To me.
Colors always look the same,
When the person they come from
Listened closely to the one before.
MiC Graphic Designer Samyuktha Variyam can be reached at svariyam@umich.edu
MiC Head of Photography Akash Dewan can be reached at abdewan@umich.edu