I Am That Flower.

I am that Flower
Upon whom the gentle breeze
Blew every season;
Colourful insects sat on me
To enhance my beauty;
I liked their cheerful company.

I am that Flower
With whom God's feet
Were adorned with sacredness;
Children used to come to me
To enjoy my fragrance;
Poets used to compose their poetry
With their finer feelings
Adding extra beauty to me.

Then a day came with darkness;
A gang of venomous Demons
Snapped me by their vulgar hands
From my Affectionate Mother Tree!
My every petal was torn away amidst my helpless shrieking;
I was writhing in intolerable agony;
My choked voice fell into their deaf ears, they were laughing cruelly
Staring at me being in a pool of blood with sapless buds!

Now I an dried!
Now I am dead!
I am that Flower!
Tell me! Tell me!
What was my fault?

by Sudipta Bhattacharyya

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.