Our barest essentials are nuts
Before we bite bolt from blue.
Now we turn blue in our faces
When faced with particulars.
We shall turn blue like the sky
Not a fluorescence of Krishna
In the blues of a peeved lover,
Her eyes closed with his flute.
We are blue blood particulars.
They will in due course merge
And coalesce from ground up
In the blue vagueness of a sky.
Indian Metaphor 