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The Name of Red

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Beena Khan

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“With fire, with word, with open hand, The water, the air, or the sand— what we lost, what we gain No one knows how we first began. In lust for life, so far we've gone, From cave to crown, from dust to throne. We know so little, so much unknown— Everything feels like rent, yet we call it our own. We mapped the stars, we crossed the seas, Tamed the wild and split the trees. But in our minds, a darker spark: We forged a sun to burn the dark. A breath, a flash — the silence torn, The gift of God in atoms worn. And now we stand, both wise and blind, The end we crafted — cruel, unkind We made the life in this form We built the world — we made it home. No one knows how we first began, But we ourselves written the end. To destroy the world may take one fatal fluke— And Human — that is you — invented Nuke And Human — that is you — invented Nuke”

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“I slept. And then I awoke, late that same afternoon, I awoke full in the knowledge that I was alone. I have now seen a great many children in the same place I found myself in that day, orphans, feeling themselves abandoned and left open before all the elements of the world, and I have seen how some explode in tantrum while others walk in an almost stupor, how some cry for days and others move with an uncanny focus, addressing only the moment before them. Some part of them has died, and like surgeons, they know that amputation must be immediate.”

MotherLossGriefOrphan
Author:Ta-Nahisi Coates
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“The woman walked into the bar for the first time in the winter rain. She didn’t have an umbrella on her; her little sleeveless dress ended at her ankles, fully drenched. Her wet dress clung to her body, showing the outlines of her curves. In one hand, she was carrying the skirt of her dress. Suddenly, she let it go, and one long, bare arm moved upward as she tried to fix her damp hair which had darkened in intensity due to the rain. It fell past her shoulders, the strands sticking to her face. She attempted to comb through the tangles with her fingertips. The men watched her movements hungrily, their eager faces drawn to her and at the sight of someone new. Their eyes trailed from her face, to her wet body, then back to the movements of her hands entwined in her hair. Under her other arm, she carried a book and a trench coat. It appeared strange she wasn't wearing the coat when it was pouring outside and freezing in the middle of November. Men were left mesmerized by her, and she turned heads as she walked by. Something radiated from within her, drawing the men around her in. The women who were with some of these men noticed their gaze on the unfamiliar woman. Now they stared at her with jealousy and anger. Who is she? they wondered.”

RomanceLossGriefLove StoryLiterary Fiction
Book:The Name of Red
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