Poem: Crimson Letter
I don’t know I got fascinated by blood this time. But I consider that blood is the elixir of life. It is life. It is the ultimate tool of sacrifice.
“The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.”
― T.S. Eliot
I thought so too. How about using blood as ink? The crimson-colored bloody ink can churn heart-rending poetry. I call this poem the ‘crimson letter’. Once you read it, you will appreciate the bloody verses.
Poem: Crimson Letter
I write to you
My pen dipped in blood
Straight from my heart.
The blood that was to
Run in my veins
Now tells my story.
I ain’t the wise man you think
Lost my worldly ways
Walking with a dream.
If there is something worth
It’s my unequivocal love
Intangible asset worth zero cents.
The blessed one you are
The beauty with the brains
The brave warrior of life.
Is there somebody who is worthy enough
I know there is no one
So I shall count my chances.
For I write this crimson letter
Which shall tell you my love
For you, the love that never was.
~Ashok Subramanian © 2023
This is another case of tag poetry, for I shared this with Priya Patel. She responded with a conciliatory tone, perhaps understanding the undercurrent that flowed in my poem. She is a friend, and despite being miles apart, I have never been able to fathom her sense of understanding. It is a special kind of friendship that our poems express.
Poem: Blood Work
I was written out
long before I knew I was in;
chapters of me in a book
with blood seeping into the print
I was this character you needed
but could only write about,
and so I wonder about the words
that caused you to doubt
my acceptance
I wonder how your heart beat
with blood flowing
through the pages written about me
You claim to be unwise,
but I see you differently;
perhaps because you dream of me
I smile at your poetry;
the ones your write
in the middle of night,
not knowing that the verses
we’re written for me
Perhaps I am the one
lost of worldly ways
unknowingly praising your words
and how you easily amaze
me with your craft
I too write,
with my pen dripped in blood
sheets of stacked papers
creating a written flood
of my lost loves;
my crimson book of me about you
called blood work
~ ©️ Priya Patel 5, 10, 23, 🕉
Poem: Red Letter Day
Her poem filled positivity in my bloodstream, filling my head and heart with a rush of blood. I blushed in red and felt it was a special day. I call it the ‘red letter day’ in our poetry collaboration.
What a day it has been
A war in my heart
Pumping blood
At a pulsating pace.
Your letter arrived
My name in red
Words from your heart
Soaked in blood.
It’s the closest
I can ever get
To touch you, my love
From such a distance.
The cursive writing
Precise like calligraphy
Your hands so steady
Your thoughts so clear.
A message of firm love
The glow of copper moon
Colorful as the evening sky
Unambiguous in thought.
I wonder how these words
Act like a solid shore
To my wavering mind
Unsure of your thoughts.
As I read and read
Your letter again
I smile and surrender
Today is my red letter day.
~Ashok Subramanian © 2023
The poems are crimson and red, but they are more in love than horror. We are all vessels holding blood.
“Everybody is a book of blood; wherever we’re opened, we’re red.”
― Clive Barker, Books of Blood: Volumes One to Three
So, enjoy this bloody poetry… till next.
~Ashok Subramanian © 2023
