The Hour Before You Commit Suicide
The hour before you commit suicide Think of, red flowers. Buddhist monks. Magic seeds, like rain on your face. Flags, revolutions, flying high. Dancers in red. Autumn. Think of, the setting sky and the red sea. Fallen roses. Lips dried up, like parched land. The red of your veins, like a river, dead with no rivulets. And, the red planet like another time. You see, the sindhoor bath of the goddess, in gold. The red flowing out from a million cuts. The red earth, holding the female red as if a baby sacrificed at the altar. And now, you realize, The red leaving the borders like the words you left unsaid. You hang Swaying in the breeze like a bridal wear left to dry.