Color Never Born

In the silence of ink is born a color that does not exist.
It has no name nor border; suspended between page and cloud it stays.
It is timid memory, a shadow that dares not call itself hue.
It germinates among raindrops, when everything becomes reflection.
It is a promise that cannot be bought, a whisper of paper.
It mixes with the scent of ink and the taste of water.
Between the ink and the rain, a silent light is born.
It remembers what never was, but lives within every gaze.
When time tears the pages, a fragment of hue remains.
A color that has no name, but guards a memory.
And when the rain returns, it awakens its birth.
Perhaps it is just a dream of color, but it is home for those who remember.