Category: Creative

Red Ink

She ran to fields, with no one to yield;

Sobs never heard, no one really cared.

Austere or auspicious?  For sure, suspicious.

She dried and her rage died.

Conflicting thought, came to nought

Painting red, better than dread.

Red ink marks, menacing work

Leaving meandering, I write wondering …

Between the reeds and her deeds,

Lay a flower wreath; a fresh air breath.

Copyright © 2017, Deeya Nayar-Nambiar

Red Rose

wither

You gave me a red rose

 Every time to proclaim love.

I blushed red and gushed,

Remembering the day

We stepped into an arranged marriage.

Honest as always,

You declared your gratitude

To the flower seller –

His only stock of red roses.

I chose the vermilion, instead.

Copyright © 2017, Deeya Nayar-Nambiar