Tragedy!
Tragic as it could be, for a flower
To be plucked and placed beneath the
pages
Of book that carried words of love
One that became its graveyard, buried, though
Neither dead, nor alive, but left
To suffocate, chock and cry
As pages ate its soft fleshes, inhaled
drying smell
To get high, and held its bones as
Monuments of love, a fine treasure
To preserve, indeed! As ages passed by
And time lost trails, yet screams
remained confined
Lost, drowned in own tears, as fire
within
Scattered ashes, burnt forever
Being in love, and cursed!
By: Praveen Parasar
Date: 19/03/2014
what a detail. I know we have ALL pressed roses between pages--and never thought of their "is-ness"--just what they commemorate. There is a marvelous poem by Karl Shapiro--called: A Cut Flower--i am going to link you. You will adore it.
ReplyDeleteI have this poem in my ABOUT at fb--here is the link--and a sampling because it is just delectably good...
A CUT FLOWER....
I stand on slenderness all fresh and fair,
I feel root-firmness in the earth far down,
I catch in the wind and loose my scent for bees
That sack my throat for kisses and suck love.
What is the wind that brings thy body over?
Wind, I am beautiful and sick. I long
For rain that strikes and bites like cold and hurts.
Be angry, rain, for dew is kind to me
When I am cool from sleep and take my bath....
(there are like 3 more stanzas--each better than the lst) Hope you love...
http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20090604140444AACecYv