20 March 2013

[Poetry] RIP Love

There she sits, watching and watering a withering corpse of a fading red rose.
Her first spontaneous marriage.
As she does everyday.
Clad in a sultry skirt and a worn pouty smile, the maiden exudes disillusionment.
Broken, she envisions soft silkened rosy red petals of plush.
A soul-less skeleton of what used to be stares back.
She fails to notice.
We dare not advert her attention.

The blackened rose lay hardening in the infertile soil, producing less and less young flirtation.
Snide mutterings and face contortions were the maiden's newest expressions.
Still, she waters with lowered expectations.
An impotent rage fires through her smile.
She is hurt.
Murmurings become pleas.
Pleas fail.
Defeat follows.

She is finally put out of her misery.

We watch in amusement as the head of the rose gradually bows into decapitation.
The rest crumples into a callous heap.

Death's secretary had already sent for the once spry sensual plant.
Days pass before she approaches the makeshift grave.

Draped in black, she takes her usual seat near the tragic tomb-less dirt area.
Never taking her bagged eyes off the remaining limbs of the rose, she fastidiously takes a small wooden cross from inside her robe.

Inscribed on it, a single word: “Love”
After placing one quick somber kiss on the relic, she stuck it viciously in the ground, bookmarking the end of this chapter.


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