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.

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