Red-Green questions.

Questions were always there, rarely asked,
Meeting the blind eye, in confusion they basked,
Battling red and green, until both cried sigh,
Till both forced me to ask, “Who am I?”

Individual concentrations they contributed,
To the men of honour they booted and suited,
Berated, grated, churned and flushed them away,
Contesting to be the last one standing in the fray.

Streaks of red taught the art of scheduling,
Scrupulousness hitched with seriousness, no fooling,
Reading between lines, writing on the innermost,
No recklessness, no half chances, and no burnt toast.

It fought the battle hard, with no stone unturned,
Intimidating perhaps, with actions majorly spurned,
Standards at eagle’s height, expectations higher,
In a world of success, couldn’t afford to be drier.

Opposing sparkles of green, in a laid back style,
Caught up between mood rides – sober and vile,
Unstable at first thought, maniac at the second,
Until you recognize the pattern in gates opened.

Eccentric enough to suck nectar straight from the bee,
Spunky enough to draw Shakespeare on graffiti,
Uncanny to call, with antagonistic arms,
Messed up in the head, creative in its charms.

And the third breed, the streaks and sparkles,
Having best of the both worlds, feathers and marbles,
Fighting to find the identity, and which houses what,
Sinfully green, intellectually red, rest is a drought.