A light, three tiles, another light,
Not white but tinted: blue, pink, green,
The ceiling's closer, muffling my thoughts,
As it deadens the voices around.
The window's open a crack,
A slim strip of sky let in,
But the air is dense, filled with heat,
And dry confused conversations.
The wall is plain, just white,
But washed in the yellow reflection of day,
The only colour here needs a good eye,
Otherwise, all is grey.