“Crimson Confessions”

By Rishika Marethia

Blood! Blood! Blood!

Oh my God! What have you wrought?

Why are your hands so stained?

Why do your crimson eyes hold tears unclaimed?

Oh, my child! Why are your lips sealed

In this tempest, and

The thunderous sound

I can hear a cry from the ground.

A wounded brother, pleading for aid,

Insisting on finding his sister

Who’s yet to reach the grave?

Hush, hush, the rustling of the leaves

Wants to tell you, 

Oh! They witnessed her yell.

Tattered clothes, scars everywhere,

She struggled to reach the cold pyre.

The ravens out there assaulted her chest.

They commemorated winter 

By rending her flesh.

Tell me, oh boy! What have you done?

Are you the victim or the culprit?

Did you abandon the girl like that?

Did you, too, violate her trust?

Oh no, no, no! Don’t confess such.

Did you succumb to the devil’s words?

Oh no! The blood is still flowing.

What? What is this?

“I am dead. Call the police.”

By Rishika Marethia