Today the wall refuses grey
and becomes a pocket revolution.

Nine loud polygons meet at a point,
arguing about which color is reality.

Pink votes for softness,
red for alarm,
blue for silence with depth.

The black lines are border control,
pretending to keep them apart—

but the eye crosses anyway,
smuggling joy from green to orange,
from yellow to night-blue,

until the whole little map
admits it is not a diagram at all,
just a heart sliced into shapes
to see what it’s made of.