Bleeding Rose

Divya Mehra

He held a rose in his hand
Beautiful, tall, fine
That held delicate lies
Intricately woven together, refined
with a plethora of understatements
to be thrown at her, with no impertinence but love the size of Roe
Politeness is accepted,
Rudeness is subjugated
that was for sure, as he called her “milady” 
But of course, then was not the apt time
To cite flaws?
Carefully folded and pressed underneath his lips
Why do you ask?
to butcher her soul and enslave her shadow;
He knew her weakness,
He was her strength,
He was her everything, everything; her heart a fragile mess
And she was his just another Jane
Just one mistake, then replaced
She was safe though, for the time was by her side
The clock hadn’t struck 12, tik, tok and phew! alive
he had his patience intact, oh that was for a short while
It was the dawn of darkness over him
Some kind of monster that he aped
Whipped, lashed and vented his anger
As if she was his docile lamb, all set to endure the pain
NO, that was not her fate!
The rose bled that very day,
When her body became a canvas for him to paint;
Purple bruises, red scars, blue wens & smudged cuts; such colourful art
Nevertheless,
The rose was magnificent, just reeked a little of blood.

1 comment

  • i loved it how you connected your poem to something as ordinary as a rose flower. i really liked the lines ‘When her body became a canvas for him to paint;
    Purple bruises, red scars, blue wens & smudged cuts; such colorful art’. keep writing! also, do check out my poem too (reviving her hope…) and also comment pls.

    Archisha Vedha

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