Sudipta Mishra, Puri, 31 August 2024
A rose bloomed
Unperturbed
Unagitated
Unaware of the storm
Day by day
Spread the musky fragrance.
Suddenly came a wild bee
To suck the hidden essence
From an uninhabited land
To explore the magic of rose.
Poor rose felt so secured
Like a routine,
It swirled, hopped and went on
Pink petals dazzled as usual
Oblivious of the upcoming menace
It felt
A push
A pull
A twitch
Fluttering leaves bore the scar.
At last fell the naive flower
From its stem
Crushed sepals
Tired thorns gave up!
Some drops of blood became
The sign of last struggles
Everything became a story.
Is it a sin to be a red rose?
