The Butterfly and the Rose

He hurried down the hill, the playful butterfly,

Thirsting for his queen, the morning rose;

She turned her face, shunned the fickle lover,

The rose;

Fluttered the butterfly closer,

Tenderly to woo the rose,

Beg for mercy,

To caress once more her silken blossom,

Languorously to cradle in her folds;

Aloof she stood in the rising sun, the rose;

In the vanity of her solitude,

Frigid, in the pervasive warmth that arose,

Naked, deceived and betrayed,

Indignant by the deep humiliation,

The Queen of flowers, the rose!

Her magnificent crimson petals, she had shed,

Her strong, splendid green leaves had fallen,

Her sharp, shielding thorns were gone,

Lost in the wilderness her alluring perfume;

One time the butterfly stroke her,

Forever he touched her soul!

Anita Bacha

http://poetryofanitabacha.com/

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Poem – Mother of Mine

 

POEM – Mother of Mine

 If I were to pen your portrait

Yon memory lane paving my way

Words would fumble and fail to define

Your beauty so pure, so divine

Your laugh chased the gloomiest cloud away

Your tears molten the frozen heart at bay

Years passed by, your hair turned grey

Your sweet smile did not fade away

O Mother of mine!

A shining star in the sky above

Shower on this child of thine

 Pink rose petals of eternal love!

                                                    – Anita Bacha –

for me a pink rose