I am, but a wilted rose,
When u plucked me from the stem,
I was red, in full bloom.
I remember the gardener guiding you..
he had planted me long ago..
when i first opened eyes, i was his first flower,,
but u came and plucked me as if i were a toy in a babyshop
u needed me just so that u had fun pluckin a flower..
how mean
i thought i was better off being a rose
than that fake plastic flower
which we often find in huge mansions
but i realize that i am
and i was
wrong
atleast no one can crumple him
his fragrance can always be renewed
his petals always fresh
having that fake water drop over it
oh, i was so wrong
u crumpled me and threw me off
u sniffed me and that was it..
u loved ur colognes more..
my rosy life ended
the day u threw me in the bin
and me a rose, expected u to preserve me
or atleast gift to someone
but i forgot
that i am but a wilted rose
and you a human
-----------------
(this is azad shayerii in english.. :p)
When u plucked me from the stem,
I was red, in full bloom.
I remember the gardener guiding you..
he had planted me long ago..
when i first opened eyes, i was his first flower,,
but u came and plucked me as if i were a toy in a babyshop
u needed me just so that u had fun pluckin a flower..
how mean
i thought i was better off being a rose
than that fake plastic flower
which we often find in huge mansions
but i realize that i am
and i was
wrong
atleast no one can crumple him
his fragrance can always be renewed
his petals always fresh
having that fake water drop over it
oh, i was so wrong
u crumpled me and threw me off
u sniffed me and that was it..
u loved ur colognes more..
my rosy life ended
the day u threw me in the bin
and me a rose, expected u to preserve me
or atleast gift to someone
but i forgot
that i am but a wilted rose
and you a human
-----------------
(this is azad shayerii in english.. :p)
Comments
Did you write this?
Funny how everyone is turning poetic, most of the blogs i visit are so beautifully adourned with verses..
I have a recovered a bit from my depressive mood and have written something lighter, do post your comments on that too..
Anyways.. your poetry.. like your stories weaves such amazing artistry.. deeply impressed :)
That breathed the wild wind of the
woods.
Seduced by its natural, pristine beauty,
a tourist gently plucked it and took it
home.
He placed it in a fancy crystal vase in
the drawing room.
The eyes of all who came did fall
first on the purple flower.
Sprinkles of praise and showers of
plaudits
kept it wet and swamped it.
O that someone could tell them all:
The little purple bud feels smothered
by the sophisticated, citified smell
of cigarette smoke and chenille;
it pines again for the fresh air of the
woods.
thanks for the comments.. but well, when I reread the poem it seemed a bit funny!!!