Never trust a man’s vanity who douses himself in red.
His black-kohled eyes might exude menace ,but his hennaed beard is a slovenly attempt at hiding his own coquettishness.One might admire him from a distance for glowing like a swollen carrot,but as one gets closer, foul-smelling odour of radish-induced farts might nauseate him.Puritans and aesthetically fussy might find him disgusting, but he has no inkling that his sight makes people want to retch out .
The facial overgrowth,rich in hues ,matches his pet vanity – the red beacon. It is his pride,his entitlement,his reward for political loyalty ,his power ticket .When his vehicle ,adorning the symbolic Red light,rushes through crowded areas of the metropolis at high speed ,wind caresses his beard like they are red sorghum standing in fields .
There is blood,crimson red, suckling on which makes him redder . His instincts get aroused when blood is shed in the name of the Holy Cause. But blood also terrifies him. Red beard can be shaved off at whim. His Red Beacon can be switched off at pleasure. Once blood starts flowing , no valve can halt its flow .The State has suffered a lot under the spectre of Red. He has lived through those times .Roads , streets and drains used to be drenched in blood in those days .There is a crust of rust on the Reds now. Rising Saffron now gives him creeps.
“Enemies have snatched my toy beacon . At heart,I am still a child.They don’t get it. No one ever does.I am not a child like Jeremy (of Pearl Jam). I don’t have balls to start shooting .They have swollen to red in despair.My people are laughing at me. THE Others too .I have a remedy. The Others have a red- faced deity.I will paint mine red as well .With a red face, hennaed beard,adorning red clothes from head to toe ,I will resemble the red beacon over my car, walking in streets .”
I say he would just look like an oversized carrot . Rabbits might nibble and chew his ass off. Then he will cry and croak from his Pulpit in the Tower.