Wednesday, June 15, 2005

Distraction

All his cars were red.
First a Cheverolet that was too big to park,
And then a deep-red Datsun that faded with age;
All his cars were shades of red
Like blood, in different stages of clotting,
Or fresh bruises on skin.

Then one day came a Merc, white,
As though purged from sins.
I opened a black-curtained window
And remembered the toy car he bought me
Replacing the gray Ferrari that fell from the third floor
And broke into pieces.

That day I was twelve, and the window
Was 16 floors above the toy Merc,
I looked down
And saw his snow white car
Turn bright red with my blood.
He won’t be able to make water out of wine anymore.

3 comments:

SPECKLED_BAND said...

Lovely poem, lovelier last line!

Pragya said...

It was a pleasure reading this again. Thanks for posting it here.

Pragya

Jinx said...

The comment below was for this *sheepish grin*.