The book of Red

I live here. Off the velvet of your eyes.

A left-handed carpenter, Jesus was the

First to breathe life to colors. His song a

Madrigal for black Palestinian poets.

An albino monk throws Apollo the remainder

of a torn communist washcloth, the year is 1991.

In her garden, under the Banyan tree my grandmother’s

Snake slithers with his vegetarian kin.

The embroidery on her robe, an inverted rose, the

Way I see if Latin was Jesus, then Moses was Arabic.

On a pram in my dream, twins sip of cherry wine from

The roots, stems and leaves of Gaia.

When Surya dies, I will build him a cathedral at the far end

Of no man’s land. Where we as ghosts count the 100 fireflies

Of the night, holding hands, with a sweet red lining.

Amal Joseph Mathew is a first-year communication student from the Christ ( Deemed To Be University). He enjoys reading poetry and listening to Frank Ocean. His poetry and photography have been published in the Nether Quarterly and Iris Journal respectively. He is 19, hails from Adoor, Kerala.