What is black? What is white?
If you had asked me when I was just over ten years old, I might have said:
"Black is the tiles passing through the wind on the roof beams in winter, and white is the paper kites floating in the sky over the square courtyard."
But if you were to ask me now, I would say: "Black is the chaos waiting for dawn in the veranda before dawn, and white is the remaining trace of the skirt soaked in blood."