The Red Rose
By Fiza Pathan
Oh, my wonderful red rose so pure and meek
I bow to your beauty which mesmerizes with the fragrance of your smell.
You have no eyes but your vision is good –
you have no ears to hear but still
you listen to my pleadings in the dark hours of our bridal night.
No image can compare with your wet blood-red petals
which send my heart towards the thorns of your touch.
Don’t prick me my dear red rose,
for I have already been chastised
for not having seen your splendor in the past.
Your perfume purges the air of pestilence
and it enslaves the poet in your petals.
You are an image of a holy angel
with lips blood-red to entice your lovers –
your tears are your dew drops,
that set my soul on fire everlasting.
Your thorns bring cuts along with it
but the piercing of my flesh makes me want to kiss you
with the gentle touch of my thirsty lips.
Morning, Noon, Evening and Night
do I speak of your splendor to the Gardener of Paradise.
Heaven would not enthrall me so,
if you dear flower so tender won’t be there.
I press your delicate petals to my cheek
and feel the love you share with your touch.
Your pollen grains tickle my nose as I gather them from you –
yellow gold for the poet of verses from his muse
the red rose of humble thorns.
Sweet child of the daytime and lover at night –
let me spend my life with you at my side
as a patient listener to my most intimate thoughts.
My rose, the blood-red rose,
your fragrance calls to the spirit within me
to light up and shine forth like a Sun
to caress you in the warmth of my embrace.
Copyright © 2014 by Fiza Pathan
Image courtesy: http://www.morguefile.com/