The city engulfed in the night’s wings,
The streets deserted, filled with unease,
It’s feathers ruffled as a man took quick strides,
Through a back alley where the drunkard hides,
Just a few steps more and he will be free again.
The music drowned the eeriness of the gloom,
As the door opened just slightly to let the man in,
His freedom awaited him,
Thirsty to light a fire within.
The luminous room was welcoming,
A place where he was transformed,
Like a phoenix rising from the ashes,
This is where his life reformed.
He carefully donned the colours of liberation,
Hues of all the colours existing in ink,
He glanced outside through eyes of her,
As the crowd cheered Pink! Pink! Pink!
Wig? Heels? Lipstick? Check!
She stepped outside as the encore grew louder,
Pink gleamed through the dim lit tavern,
Dancing with her smile growing wider.
The blood red lipstick evoked sensuality,
The high heels stomped the hatred at every wink,
The colossal wig whipped out power,
And her Pink gown made her the “Pink”.
She twirled and swirled, jumped and curled,
The crowd awestruck, just watched her every move,
She radiated power, fearlessness and courage,
Pink just moved to the groove.
As Pink he was free,
As Pink she was seen,
As Pink he was happy,
As Pink she was Queen.
Amidst this mundane hug of the night’s wings,
Pink was the only one who shone.