How funny is it that the same Red which speaks of love and heart speaks of blood and revenge too. A piece of work written in a small garden with lovely friends at a time when an idea meant the world for us – Samar Syal and Pragati Khabiya
At the break of dawn,
when the sky was red,
I left your womb
Clothed in the red of your flesh mother.
I was thrown into the world
but my only religion was the kiss
from your red, red lips, mother.
The red apples,
in the backyard of the chapel
filled my red heart
with the joy of being alive.
But when father died
In a war of fright,
your broken red bangles
broke my heart…
Sweet little sister
In red blushed cheeks,
didn’t know why to cry
For something she couldn’t keep!
She didn’t cry for the house broken down
Not an inch of fear,
not even a frown.
The enemy cut the apple trees, mother
And ran over the tomato gardens.
Why the world isn’t free mother?
Shall I leave it without pardon?
Should I build the house again,
With new lovely bricks in red?
Shall a bride come without pain?
And I leave the past to the dead?
But how mother?
When the anger in my deep eyes
Is red to suffice
How mother shall I go on?
When my feet are stuck in the dark red soil.
The revenge shines in red,
My sword is so proud, mother!
Bid goodbye to sleep in the bed
My rage is shrieking loud, mother!
If blood quenched their thirst,
I’d give them some more to drink.
Take dear father’s finest wine
And give them no moment to think!
Drunk in the thought of death
My sweet escape, I bet
I shall lie under the sky so red
Able bodied no more to fret
Bury me in the backyard of the chapel
Dear mother! Promise me you will
Send sister to climb up and pick the apples
It’s there you will find me still.