Born into abject poverty, Miranda has done exceptionally well for herself. She has attained great wealth, crushing and ruining many lives in her quest to acquire the lifestyle she now enjoys, one that most people could only dream of. But along the way, she herself has been taught harsh lessons in the school of life. Now in her late 80s she reflects upon her past failings with deep regret as she makes shocking revelations to those whose forgiveness she seeks. Miranda has a new perspective now and balks at what she used to be - an unapologetic racialist, the offspring of a white supremacist. Can she make up for her past wrongdoings with charitable deeds and pleas of forgiveness? Among those she has wronged, and who wields the power to grant her clemency, some simply do not trust her. And others still, are either unwilling or unable to grant her heart's desire. Is it too late for Miranda to find peace of mind? Some days her only hope springs from writing poetry - poetic verses like these: ********What is a colour in the eye of the beholder whose heart is in the grip of unbending love?Why - he or she is nothing more than a God given gift sent from above.What is a colour to the unseeing mind of the blind who cannot begin to formulate the concept of a hue?No malice within his heart arises because his psyche cannot conjure a tainted view.He feels only the comfort of a helping hand so dear, Knows only the sharing of the burden with a listening ear.Why can't we all become like blind men, seeing with our hearts and not hating what we see?Can we not look beyond colour to behold a fellowman and just a loving neighbour be?And so I ask you to contemplate this query - what is a colour?What is a colour when death comes to call upon the man who is black?And also visits his white neighbour - can either by his hue keep alive his mortal soul or yet spare himself from the grim reaper's attack?So why then in the name of a colour do we hate?Or in the name of colour others annihilate?Why refuse to look aright upon another as a man -Just because they have been painted by melanin's hand?For surely God in love created all.To provide variety upon this terrestrial ball.So what would your answer be if He should upon you call to ask, what is a colour?Why does one refuse to touch, to know, to love, to feel empathy?What is the reason for such unwarranted hostility?Why not help your neighbour to breathe - why not stop his pain?Won't you speak out to cease the hurt - the emotional dread - the mental strain?Inflicted by one with a defective attitudeUpon one other or two or even a multitudeJust because they differ by their colour.I say there is a better way - a way of honourFor if you would but penetrate the superficial membrane of a hueThen you will find the true being within is just like you.And here's hoping you yourself might then ask too -What is a colour?