The Black Roses
Yesterday morn we blossomed,
by Muhammad Shanazar
With the brave show of colours,
And shades dark, deep and dim,
Combined with fresh tenderness;
In long rows along the highway,
The vehicles passed by swishing,
No one stopped to praise the petals,
To compare to the fairness of the face,
And delicacy of the beloved’s lips.
Our fate is worse than the primrose,
Unheeded, whose petals wither unseen,
And die unpraised in the deep thick,
Forest, beside the glimmering stream,
Or tripling, dancing water of the fountain.
We breathed the air smoky and smelly too,
Poisoned with the contents of carbon,
Black, unpurified water was sprinkled,
To take, adulterated and impure light,
Through hazy spheres came upon us.
Though we lived a day and a night,
And another day too, now before the sunset,
We discern the difference between the times,
We were born and the moments of departure,
Impurities of the world marred our grace,
Beauty, tenderness and splendour too,
Now we are all black,
Not because we are the black roses:
A very rare specie, that tempts the eyes,
That enchants, exalts the hearts,
We are black for we sucked the sooty air,
And nourished with the black, contaminated
Poisoned, carbonized water, that now runs
Through our veins, and black fumes,
Have settled upon the beds of petals:
The olden seats of the dew drops.
Oh! Inhabitants of the world, be happy ever more,
Though you fed us with poisonous air, polluted water,
Yet we emitted fragrance; dissolving petty existence,
To prove our trivial worth that we possessed.