Wednesday, January 2, 2008

Bleeding Hearts

Red, like the blood they shed,
Red, stains on torn frocks and little hands-
Red drops ablaze, on the pale glass sand.

Red like their rosy cheeks,
Red- flushed, tired and hungry,
Red, as they bleed, to defer their agony.

Red, the evening sun shines,
Red, kites we buy and fly:
-Red, to conceal, and toss their pain up high.

Red, their fury,
Red, vicious flames of fear,
Red, telling of danger near.

Red, as the baby’s eyes,
Red, the tears it cries,
Red- beckoning his sister, ‘take me inside’.

Red, the pain she feels,
Red, as the strings she holds,
Red, as her skin’s bleeding folds.

Red, as the sharp dust that flies,
Red, as the long closed eyes of many a friend,
Red, when will their tryst come to an end?

Red, as the fine powder in grandma’s palm,
Red, the hypocrisy in my joined hands,
Red, as a rose they will never see again.

Red, our dancing fingers flying kites,
Red, from much wear and sweat,
Red, from obliviously pulling the strings their blood once wet.

No comments:

Post a Comment