Rose

By Krish Sharma

The petals, they could dry,

The scent would last forever.

Sedative for the corpse,

Serene becomes the endeavor. 

Thorns that act a vile

Safeguarding the bloom of grace,

Cannot be condemned, the barriers,

For they too grieve her face. 

Glittering rain on scarlet skin,

Velvet to rusty hands.

Concentric clothing of combined smiles—

Such shortage over the lands. 

Colors of this creature,

Mending stairways to gods in heaven.

Red or yellow turns the sky.

Pink cheeks embarrass the wonderful seven. 

Stem that reached her neck,

Holding the burden of Aphrodite.

Blessed as one can be,

So said the Almighty.

By Krish Sharma