Dark Rose

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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.

Comments

Sudarshan said…
Nice post..hey u got a great blog..pretty nice pics too!!Keep posting!
7:04 PM
Mukta Raut said…
hello sudarshan,

Thanks. Oh! I get some great pics through email forwards!
10:49 PM
Blue Athena said…
Nice! Yes, pride stands tall. Wilt or no wilt! :)
3:53 PM
Mukta Raut said…
Hi blue,

Thanks. :-)
6:59 PM
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