Red is the wine
that breathes in a glass,
red is the whiskey
inside a flask;
Red is the sun light
in the morning rays,
red is the moon
in her scarlet haze;
Red is the swing-set
where children play,
red are the lips
of lovers by the bay;
Red is spilled
for religious war,
red is the blood that flows through us,
no matter the religion,
the rich,
the poor,
and socially awkward whore.

By: Viraj Belgaonkar