The Colour of Truth

It was a sunny day, the roses
At my window bloomed a fierce red.
I sat still and quiet on the bed
Pondering all that time disposes.
On all the lies that truth imposes
Its blood red print till they're dead
I stared at the roses with mounting dread
and rage at all that trust supposes.

Your beloved face,your penchant for blue,
Your acid words and the routes they steered
So much there is to leave behind --
Your laughing swoop, my love of you.
My cry echoed in the street, I feared
Actually, it resounded in my mind.

© anindita sengupta