born out of a common seed, how cum the flower's a lavender bloom?
when comes the rain, save it... for now its only June
it makes me sick the way it grows, happy and modest and shiny and soft..
i wonder why i am not the flower while the flower has it all...
there is a chill beyond the glass... i see the season's changed...
where is the bloom that once was there; nothing's left but frozen rain
it hurts to be so loving... so caring, oh i just cant cry...
it was such a lovely sight to my blind, glass eye
the grip is loose, my pen might fall... when was the last time i scratched a word
there is no-one on the door and yet my heart keeps pounding, telling me stop
so many shades of faded cloth ... what beautiful dresses they could have been...
i wonder what that shade of peculiar purple cud be trying to remind me..
oh i too had a garden once... with a dozen different forms of life..
no i did not plot flowers like u, but my bushes i did like
there was grass and weed and thorns and shrubs, little white and yellow petals that would decay on their own
and my garden was still as glorious as your freshly pruned one with the handsome gnome
Ha! I laugh at the wonderful tragedy... i remember now what it was...
a bottle of old, old wine that made my vision blur
i think i know that flower was not a lavender after all
it was just something wild
where are my shawls, my slippers and tea?
oh yes, i feel better now...
its better to forget old fancies and stupid bits of memory
than to be trapped in that question, that knows all, but answers none, that possibility of whether i could have been that flower , or was i that fog
oh hush, let me sleep
its late
and that lavender was not mine after all.
-shambhavi