A little bud amid thorns,
Beauty, shy of itself,
Yet urging to be touched.
A crystal dew from honey coated mist,
A suicidal wish brings it down,
To feel the touch of beauty.
The soft dew and the innocent bud,
First love’s purest kiss.
The dew romancing velvet petals,
Its tantalizing touch,
The bud blooms drenched in love.
Beauty in its full spring,
Invite the beast from far east.
The dew looks in awe,
At the Sun storming in,
Will the bud close again,
And grant him a life.
The infidel bud refuses to listen,
Developing into a wicked rose.
Just before its death,
The loving dew had to see,
The lusty sunrays
And the shameless naked rose.
Ah, before the sun could kill him,
His once beloved ashamed him to death.
copyright (c) Ankur