The Red Pond

You thump your bare hands
On the shallow waters,
Then thump harder for it to be red,
For there is brick underneath.
The sun is at its peak, and
Haunted, terrified
You sit by your red pond,
Clueless, crying;
Closing your eyes.
So just sit and wait for monsoon to come,
The dread will be washed
The red pond will be deepened
And a swan or two would swim by
your immersed legs.