Garden of Regrets

By Diya Biswal

If I had a flower 

for every thought of you, 

My own garden

I could forever saunter through. 

Through which

I could prove to you 

that you mean loads,

how the love grew within me,

it implodes,

like a fruit from the bud 

of a thriving tree, outstretching its arms

holding the sky full of promises. 

If only you were near,

we’d amble each day.

No distance do I fear,

my garden will still stay

every hour 

every minute 

every second of the ray,

as if light dripped through the leaves

like honey on glass.

From day’s bloom

to night’s doom,

your cruel words

fill up my tomb,

like a flood in a flume.  

They run through my mind,

making me blind

helping me believe

I’m rotten inside.  

I try, but it’s never enough,

never enough, it’s always tough. 

My actions don’t seem to show,

I wonder why, just why, I don’t grow. 

I forgive and forget

same as usual,

leading to certain regret 

response so casual. 

I will not contrite

for neither will you, 

but it’s all right 

since none have a clue. 

I don’t want to go with such ease,

I want it to stay 

like the roots of the trees 

in our garden’s lay. 

Our garden of seeds 

Our garden of weeds 

unfurls like no other before,

so much more to explore,

in our garden that bleeds…

But bleed it shall

as the sap from Maple,

sweet like stolen kisses

sticky like molasses,

from plethora of memories 

of frosty wintery blisses.

The sun eclipsed,

ashamed it once watched us flourish

lively breathing shoots now wilted. 

I watered your thorns 

while you counted your roses. 

Velvet, fragrant exposes. 

A garden that breathed 

now gasps for air. 

A garden that believed 

now lies striped and bare. 

The garden that bloomed before 

now, decomposes…

By Diya Biswal