The Withered Flower

By Addagabottu Vyshnavi

Stowing up the twilight beam in her bindi,

Priming herself like a radiant sky during moonlit night,

Concealing the wrinkles inside the pleats of a saree,

She bloomed like a mysterious flower during dusk.

Yes, Gusty winds (or) gentle breezes,

Ferocious rain (or) pitters and patters,

Tantrums of nature (or) mother nature’s lullaby,

With a plenty of courage on one hand and a luminous blue lantern on other,

She has come on to the pavement,

looking at the stars for hope to burn bright.

Not even one man mourned her collapse,

rather auctioned her to satisfy their lustful desires.

Amidst the evaporated hopes and unknown hugs,

she has fallen on to the bed like a shooting star hits the earth. Yes, she is A WITHERED FLOWER,

But she resides at the FEET OF ALMIGHTY!

By Addagabottu Vyshnavi