A CROUCHED CRIMSON

Recently a rose dried and its crisp petals fell,

As it bent over the window sill..

Yet one sniff revealed its sweet spell,

It contained the fragrance still..!

Its thorns softened, its stem cracked,

The crimson darkened at the edges..

Yet, its beauty was unharmed, a story unfolded,

Pollen, still a part of some pages..!

Oh how it was given by a handsome hand,

To a pretty shy recluse..

Under the moonlight, the red glowed,

As people danced in twos..!

Dazzled smiles walked in bliss,

The rose blossomed further as the days passed by..

Sparkled eyes after an enchanted kiss,

They sung together under the open blue sky..!

A safe haven, better than heaven,

A riot of colours was seen by the rose...

A museum of love, a blessing from above,

It was a placebo of high dose..!

A symbol it was for the lass, and a convenient notion,

Its freshness made statues smile..

It was a gamble for the lad, an unpleasant intention,

Just another lift for the next mile...!

It became a Tug o’ war!

With the rose in the middle,

Two lovers fought inexorably,

And put their hearts on a hot griddle!

Thus after some days, the story came to an end,

The lone rose wept as nothing it could amend.

It was hastily shifted to a random window frame,

And was no more a prop in any evil game.

Now it stares at the light outside,

No shadow it has..

Reflecting on its roller-coaster ride,

It notices the pretty lass..

And as the un-ringed finger strokes the flower in trance,

The tears fall and pose as dew,

And a crouched crimson continues to breathe,

With a hope of starting life Anew!!!

-Pallavi A. Paranjape J