Colour Red….

Her dreams were packed in his wrists,
As he flew too close to the Sun,
What would happen if I could touch it,
The Sun with my palms dark,
He would often tell her as they lay down,
On the fresh cut grass, burdened with mist,
Maybe you will burn your hands,
She would often think silently,
A thought malign, something dark,
Hit him while he tried to stay on the ground,
I will touch the Sun today,
Who will come to know,
He touched the Sun and it felt heavenly,
The Sun had skin so clear,
And beamed of the colour golden,
He came down unexpectedly,
Or some would say,
The Sun couldn’t accept incest,
He came crashing down,
His palms burning,
Smelled of rotten blood,
As she caught him,
Lay down carefully,
Looked at his hands,
Touched them,
Her dreams had vanished,
Tarnished by the colour red……