Maroon

Maroon,

Maroon, its blood,

The blood that runs through the nerve of every woman in India,

As she reads the newspaper every day and unnerving rape cases unravel at the doorstep,

The blood in her roars to free her kind of abuse and accusations,

But she dormant in nerves of societal pressure,

The blood still roars, but she's pinned down by the fear of the pool of maroon, 

In the rapes tapering tapes.

Reminds me of every girl of India.

Maroon,

Maroon, its blood,

For blood donation,

The most selfless act,

You give your blood, to save,

And even though it's a selfless act,

It makes you feel warm inside,

And justly filled with righteous pride.

You might save a mother’s cries,

As she rocks her child who’s sick,

Saved by ‘Just a little prick’,

It's a salute to all the blood donors,

To all the doctors,

I know or notice,

Those little drops of maroon remind me of your selfless deed, 

Thank God, in the midst of greed and selfishness, for creating some like you.

Less a few drops, until one's heart, could stop, and you saved.

And half an hour of your day,

Spent in the most rewarding way,

By just that blood, gratefulness we painted selfless maroon...