ashes of roses

roses smell of birthdays and funerals
it depends on where they grew

heavy, heady, heart breaking
beautiful, breathtaking, bold

one rose, and a smile, is light and sweet
twelve, like frozen dreams, defrosted rotten

brown clotted blood leaves
and black veins of dried tears

embarressment, shame, confusion
trying to figure out in your head

frozen, numb, delusions
hallucinations, of a brighter day

when things you dream of come true
sometimes, they only dissapoint

you want not what you want
but how and from whom

we want not what we want
but we want it how and from who

as time sternly pulls apart
all that you want, and all that wants you

you, torn, inbetween
just freeze in helpless wonder

there's a threshold of pain, propped with numb patience
above which, he said, pain heals itself

the pain from known wounds is bitter sweet
strange wounds hurt fresh and sharp

1 comment:

  1. Hello. I followed the trail here from a comment on my blog. You have a wonderful writing style.

    Also, your Flickr photographs are wonderful to me because I have a blossoming interest in India and other Eastern areas because of the beauty and colorfulness of their society and also because of their inner peacefulness. Thank you for the views of Calcutta. You have a wonderful life if you can travel to so many places. Don't ever stop seeking and searching.