Just like her solivagant mind wanders and the soft vernalagnia colors her cheeks, rosy - poetry swells from her inside. What her camera captures, spins words of hope and despair in her.
Where the heart bleeds on to the paper, there springs poetry...
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#A_HOPE_IN_RED
Red they paint her in, Red on her lips, draped in red, Red painted soles, red on her cheeks All smiling set to be wed
He comes on a white horse, A red shawl on his sherwani white And paints her with red vermilion Calling her his to be... Perfect, right?
Nobody notices the red eyes That hide behind the dark kohl line Just like they'll pretend the red welts On her hands are just fine
Red she must stain her wedding bed, Behind red she hides for the rest of her life Drowned in her own blood, abused and beaten She keeps quiet to be a good wife
Red flowers she puts on her tray, Red flowers she wears everyday Once painted with the vilest red doesn't mean, Her freedom needs to be snatched away.
Red is the flag of her liberation Red is the medal of her glory as said Red edges the flame of rebellion in her All she sees is a hope in red.
