I had met you on a day when red flowers
Stormed a hesitant sky. I couldn’t understand then
The red saree, the red bindi and your red bangles,
Abrasions scarring a river that I had never known
The red tram that took us to Park Street, broke through
Your smile and small talk. Drinking tea of chipped cups,
Your red lips, you knew I yearned to write of subterfuges and shadows
In a rundown café closing the sun.
Whispers of a red flower on another sudden day.