Was her favourite colour..
The colour of her wedding card
Of the vermilion showcasing her marriage
Of the bindi on her forehead
Of the lipstick of her favourite brand
Of the rose, she always kept under the pillow
Of the saree her mother gifted
Of the fingernails always polished in red
She never changed colours.
Soon became the colour
Of her eyes crying hours at night, and
Of her blood that drained out of her wrists
On one fine red evening.
Her room all stained in red
Where no one was caught red-handed
People said, married life to be colourful
For her.. It was Red
*The poem was originally published in the second edition (June 2018) of With The Coffee (Click here to download your free copy of the magazine).
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