Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Dark Rose



Today I sat stunned before a dark rose. It had turned a deep violet, the colour of a poisoned wound. The petals parched at the touch of a fingertip. It stood old and wise, and yet proud with its petals unfurled and crisp. Now, it wouldn't be stroked or caressed. It had been the fragile chalice; it was now the grave gauntlet.

More than the tenderness of a bloom is the pride of a wilt.

4 comments:

Sudarshan said...

Nice post..hey u got a great blog..pretty nice pics too!!Keep posting!

Mukta said...

hello sudarshan,

Thanks. Oh! I get some great pics through email forwards!

Blue Athena said...

Nice! Yes, pride stands tall. Wilt or no wilt! :)

Mukta said...

Hi blue,

Thanks. :-)