Black Roses

A thousand salutations to you, my friend..please step into my garden of black roses.. A garden so well-groomed, look around..you won’t find any gathering mosses.. please be careful, my friend..not to shed the petals.. for, even the thorns are endeared by me..as much as their memories shrivel.. look around, my friend..the beauty of their sway in the cool morning breeze.. each black rose, smiling to the sunshine..when the gardener's breathe is on a seize.. I remember each one of them, my friend..you can ask me their story.. each of these black roses..held their own unique thrones ,for some time..in full glory.. Beautiful..aren't they?I have watered them with my blood.. perhaps they aren't black afterall..it’s just my blood, turned dark.. move around, my friend..the most precious rose is yet to be seen.. the rose..at the heart of my garden..gentle..lying in a bed of forever green.. a rose, pitch black..darker than the moonless night.. a smell, intoxicatingly sweet..it can hallucinate your sight.. look carefully, my friend..the solitary beauty, standing firm, without a stain.. the first ever rose..which adorned my garden, made it beautiful in the rain.. Those days are fresh..when I had groomed it, with the most precise care.. seems like a lifetime back..the once, sunny days replaced by a cold,damp air.. thanks for this little walk,my friend..I owe you a favour.. maybe someday you will know..it's too difficult to walk alone, on these burning stones.. maybe along this garden road or along this life's river.. © Debanka Chanda

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