The Red Rose – story of Ora

The Red Rose

When spring blossoms in the atmosphere, new life nurtures.

Various colours, shapes and sizes,

All special in their own way.

The most beautiful rose in town,

The crimson colour of red it holds.

The sweet smell captured in the finest mixes of scents,

Each coil reveals a story.

The red rose

As perfect as perfection could be,

Till the day a petal sheds,

Then more…

The beauty is no longer admired with such ore’

Life can sometimes feel like that : the red rose with its lost beauty.

The red rose

Having shed the few petals makes the difference.

People no longer want the red rose in their perfectly manicured gardens.

Have you ever admired the red rose ?

I have

I am the red rose”

Yet I believe and know;

I still hold the beauty within my cuts and creases,

As pretty as I once blossomed, opened each coil, flourishing making the earth pretty.

The red rose still captures the sweetness of nature

-A.P-

Silent Night

Silent night , silent night….

Oh shall you speak ?,

Speak with warmth and desire;

For that is all I require.

Silent night , silent night

Hold me tight,

So I can make it feel right.

Wrap me in your blanket of darkness,

Set me free,

For that is how I want to be.

Silent night, silent night

Bless upon me like a shooting star.

Resurge me,

For that is what I urge to…

Silent night, silent night

Grant me the wish of freedom,

Over my lonesome kingdom,

Greed, lust and need shall serve their deed.

Silent night, silent night ,

Oh do not go, for I shall never know what your beauty holds;

All of those stories told….

Silent night, silent night….

Oh shall you speak…?

-A.P-

The other side of the fence

The other side of the fence

It’s not always greener on the other side

Now when I look at it,

It can be as dry as this side.

Dealing with the low moods,

No smile to respond to

No normal feelings like the other,

No gratification

Unless you aren’t on the side you will not know.

Yes, it’s not always greener on the other side

When there are tears they don’t know how to wipe them,

Thus anger and frustration a result.

When moods are low, jokes aren’t funny and that leads to suspicion.

And when nothing works, even a raised tone of voice to the dead mind seems right to them.

It’s not always greener on the other side

When I glance at the paddock and hope I was the one giving empathy, I realise that I may not have been the right one.

The other side is as dry as this side,

Rarely will there be one that wants to jump this side, its all a delusion that this side is greener.

The other side of the fence,

Is as hard as it is to live on this side.

-A.P.

World War 1 or was it …

Gunshots so loud it still echos in my reincarnated life,

Each night I see the shots being fired lighting up the night skyline, just like the fireworks do now for the New Year’s Eve.

It’s that very image I jump awake to each night, the silence still echos, screams , machine guns ….

There are many dug out dungeons.

My hair so sleek pinned back in a perfect bun,

The dress pressed to perfection, the collar and cuffs as white as snow,

The choice of material was serge, and held the colour of the sky; blue.

Kerchief wrapped around the head to give the final touch.

I was dressed to precision.

Along side where my helpers , one screamed “Maitron! , I can’t keep this one going”.

The odour of boric acid and sodium hypochlorite so potent till this day, it reminds me of than.

“Let’s just sedate with chloroform!”, I yelled, in hope to keep him going and rest at a lower heart rate.

Blood oozing from many wounds , my sterile apron obviously not sterile anymore.

The camp fire lit very dim, to not attach too much attention.

The opposition are moving in closer each day,

All men sleep deprived and many malnutritioned despite all the volunteers serving the best in such a situation.

My dress tethered, the rain has washed all the blood off my open wound.

I’m breathing so heavily I can almost count each heartbeat in my mind.

I feel the lack of oxygen and I’m clearly hyperventilating.

Will I be able to get back to camp site ?

Who are these men ?

What do they want ?

Do I know something that will caused destruction ?

At the camp I find causality number 112.

After the chloroform had done its job, I sterilised my scalpel on a burning fire,

Cutting away the tissue around the 2 wounds, now hopefully the debridement will keep infection away.

Done !, methylated sprite than soaked the would , causing the casualty nil pain, thank goodness!

I than bring together my sharp tools to seal up the wound.

TBC

A.P.

The Dark Knight’

The Dark Knight’

Introduction

Is the story of a Princess who once made a mistake; the one that cost her ,her Smile

The Dark Knight

Shining armour,

Sword sharper than the mighty Pen,

Bright, almost as the strongest rays of the sun reflecting off silver,

The Dark Knight stole my Smile.

Colours, once so warm, lit up my path,

yellow, red and blue’,

The Battle fields were lit up,

Roaring with grief, once mentioned in the Mahabharata,

As old as Sanskrit (Language or ancient India),

Thats how vague the memory is to me now.

The Dark Knight Stole my Smile.

Vultures now guard my kingdom,

Where I now reside, high up above,

So high, almost away from humanity;

Rustling old leaves, now far off photosynthesis are the only sound that replaces the sound of my hearts beat,

Creeky doors, that were once galvanised, replace the dream catchers bells,

And the Hooting Owls, the sound of the golden Harp.

The Dark Knight stole my Smile.

The shackles are really heavy, giving away the smell of rusting iron.

They almost feel like my glass Bangles I once wore.

No features on my face are the same (not that I can see),

No features on my face Feel’ the same,

They once contained my personality.

I have no mirror, the only close reality to one are the tear drops I shed,

The Dark Knight stole my smile.

A.P.

Once upon a time… MAYA

Once upon a time,

Far away in the serenity of the universe,

Tucked away in a little miracle word, in her little castle full of happiness and glory,

was a little girl,

her name; MAYA.

Maya: The power by which the universe becomes manifest; an illusion

 

Once upon a time,

So innocent of the world and its powers,

Little maya, would spend hours in the the most glorious forest reins,

Flowers, Trees, Earth all succumbed to her beauty and innocence.

 

Once upon a time,

when Maya giggled, the Earths creatures all danced along in glory,

when she opened her eyes the breeze would guide her way,

The rain would keep her purity

The clouds would protect her Aoura,

 

Once upon a time,

Maya too was warned of the forbidden wild ivory,

the depth of the lake,

And the big bad wolf….

 

Now,

Where is Maya? What is Maya?

Maya is scared of her voice,

her eyes try escape the glare of daylight,

The breeze feels like a whirlwind, so strong, it almost hurts.

The rain washes her wounds away, yet not entirely

And the clouds follow her like a dark nightmare.

Now,

Maya has seen the big bad wolf,

possibly touched a poisonous Ivory,

or simply lost her way back, or is it just an illusion Maya cannot escape

For year she has not been back,

The universe misses her, the wild animals mourn, the trees sway side to side in a never ending the search of pure Innocence.

 Innocence; Maya

A.P.