Red

Two goldfishes circling in a fishbowl besides the red drape

Which mother bought despite my displeasure; 

"Red is a violent colour; 

There should be no room for violence in a happy home", i argued 

On our way back to home. 

"But red is the colour of love", she insisted trying to keep her eyes on the road; 

"Love is always violent", i thought; 

But i dint say that; 

Good rebuttals always come in the silence of nights; 

Good rebuttals always come when you are conversing with yourself; 

Good rebuttals are traitors. 

The drape's reflection painted the water red;

The gold fishes dint seem golden anymore; 

After a week of starvation and confusion;

Their valour gave up; 

They rose on the surface of the water; 

With their eyes open; 

The water was still red. 

Love is violent.