Mystery Of The Flower Bed.

By Rovina Shaji

Besides the rusty gate,

Stood a bizarre garth.

A yard of luscious flowers,

Blooming with redolence.

The ground was odd,

Slimy, slippery all around.

Seems like roots of a tree,

Tangled unduly to wither soon.

My gaze fell on the mystic flowers,

Each blooming conversely.

Resembles as if an earthling,

Same size, same physique.

But the scent of esoteric varied,

Foul, pungent to aromatic.

Someone might have casted a spell,

A spell of eccentricity!

Enchanted by the cryptic smell,

I walked towards a floret.

Bright crimson were the petals,

Pale amber patches within.

Startled for a moment ,

At the glimpse of its germ.

Snarled roots putrefying,

With immense funky odour.

Maggots creeping all over,

Flies buzzing and cracking ,

About the decayed roots of origin.

Why would the vivid petals,

Cover up the dead roots?

Perhaps to flaunt itself,

In the lead to perish shortly.

An anomalous thought,

Crossed my petty insight.

Like the carmine blossoms,

Masking up for awful vines,

Humans conceal their misconduct,

Acting customary to mankind.

What do they evince?

By Rovina Shaji