I fell in love with the idea of a Rainbow nation. Till I visited the place, where the Ark had rested, and the Great Flood stanched. There on the breasts of mountains reaching to heaven, I saw fault lines in the rock formations about.
There seemed invisible lines everywhere- boundaries that interfered persistently with the traffic. Celebrations were drawn on color for some who attended. Here and there were glints of yellow sunshine of warmth and promise, urging the colored people on.
Maybe, just maybe, it was not a dream after all- I had visited the base of the arching rainbow. I loved all the colored people around. Their skin sang of histories, of journeys, and of many stops in the desert to rest by refreshing watering holes. So, orange may well be the new brown, and blue grey, yellow sun and so on. The people thronged by in all their radiance, strutting like peacocks flailing, flirting and fleeting by.