ROSES IN THE GARDEN

ROSES IN THE GARDEN

Something irks,

Once again I feel restless,

As I see,

The roses in the garden.

It was last year,

In a similar setting,

I had written poetry.

And she was there in front of me.

We met,

Brought together by a cursory glance.

Our glances held,

Searched for deeper content,

But no word spilled,

my heart’s lament

Sometimes on that castles height,

We stood gazing,

At the orange west,

And as the sky,

Grew speckled with little lights,

She spoke to me,

Of distant domains,

The abode of Gods,

Of divine love and death.

The days passed,

I beside her, content,

In her closeness,

The sweetness of her tone.

And the fever grew,

The fire within me raged,

And in delirium,

I disclosed the scars within,

In love of her my heart had burnt.

She had blushed;

A mist covered her sparkling eyes,

As she stared at the setting sun,

A silence reigned supreme.

In this stillness, I chose

To pursue, remain close,

To my fixation,

She receded slowly from the scene.

An year has passed,

Now alone,

I sit in the garden,

In wonderment,

In solitude,

I speak to the roses,

And they gaze at me.

A similar tenderness,

A significant silence pervades.

Something irks,

It was last year,

In a similar setting,

I had written poetry.

And she was there in front of me.