A Rose Petal And a Lighter

By Brinda Mitra

She always smiled. 

I liked that smile. 

Like a blooming flower, 

The life of spring. 

Her fragrance winning the heart of whomever she met. 

She won my heart too. 

I gave her a petal of my rose. 

“Will you cherish it?” 

“Of course, I will.” 

She probably did; 

But I knew not how much. 

I was foolish. 

Maybe even careless. 

I hadn’t noticed the lighter in her hands. 

I hadn’t known she liked to play with it. 

And one day, she went up in flames, 

And took the rose petal with her. 

I know not why. 

I could only see the ashes she left behind. 

Her ashes, and that of the petal’s. 

I still held the rose. 

Some petals withered, 

Some torn away by force; 

But still alive. 

Red as blood… 

Though losing its fragrance. 

And then, I met her. 

She was different. 

So much like me, but still so different. 

And I liked her. 

I plucked another petal. 

“Don’t!” my mind cried. 

“But…” my heart argued. 

And I gave her the petal. 

I still hold the rose. 

Red as blood… 

Less petals and more thorns, 

Slowly losing fragrance. 

She holds the petal. 

The rose petal in one hand, 

A lighter in the other. 

I will never understand why people love playing with fire so much. 

Visions of flames haunt my dreams, 

Ashes still swirl inside my lungs, 

Smoke blurs my eyes and makes my throat burn, 

With threatening horror, my stomach churns. 

I wake up to see her still standing there – 

The rose petal in one hand, 

A lighter in the other. 

And she smiles. 

By Brinda Mitra