South Indian Rose

South Indian Rose Picture/Illustration/Source/Internet


My parched lips touch the crypt furtively

The biting of the white marble

Down my spine runs shudders weirdly

My eyelids flutter in bewildered rapture

Drops of tear fall down my cheeks

Merging in the dew of a red rose hungrily;

A red rose on your tomb laying silently

With trembling hands I cup the red rose

On my heart I press firmly

A token of your love,

A vestige of the unforgettable past;

The words of my poetry

Where do they come from?

The rhythm of my song

Where does it stem from?

The fragrance of the red rose

Where does it spring from?

The words speak of your love

The rhythm speaks of your love

The red rose speaks of your love

Of your warmth, your tenderness

Your immaculate beauty

They have woven precious history

Is this the end of our story untold?

Or the beginning of a new romance,

An eternal saga of two souls?

Anita Bacha 



2 thoughts on “A RED ROSE

  1. A few elders in Brindavan who revelled in scandalizing Krishna set an ordeal for Radha to test her virtue. Radha was asked to fetch water in a pot from Yamuna to home. Radha, with full faith in Krishna, was immersed in the consciousness of the Lord, that she never bothered to know the condition of the pot. The mud pot she was given had a hundred holes. She immersed it in the river, repeating the name of Krishna as usual, with every intake of the breath and every exhalation. Every time the name Krishna was uttered, a hole was covered, so that by the time the pot was full, it was whole! That was the measure of her faith. Faith can affect even inanimate objects.

    – Baba
    Thought for the day as written at Prasanthi Nilayam today
    6th April 2013


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