Paper Rose

Paper Rose

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Your love was a paper rose &
I sprayed it with my favorite
cologne & deluded myself;
Maybe if I spray enough,
the rose will come to life.
But it never did.
It never does.

I perfumed it every night
but the fragrance left my
room before morning;
You know the thing about
lifeless objects?
They don’t grow,
they stay exactly
the same &
It’s a torture because
you grow, you feel &
you are natural.

Lifeless objects,
they don’t even decay
until you bury it deep
down.

So I started looking
for a burial ground.
I walked miles with
that rose in my hand
but I couldn’t gather
the will to bury it.

I kept on walking & waited
for my feet to bleed;
Bleed enough to make
that pain greater than
my love for the rose;

I walk talked it to speak
our last words of parting &
glorify the days it adorned my balcony.
But it never did;
It never does;

I distinctly remember,
that was the moment
I stopped.
It wasn’t because of
my bleeding feet but
my unquenched thirst for words;
Words of affection,
Words of worth !

So I stopped,
I dug a grave,
I took a rock and
carved a tombstone;
‘ In the memory of a paper rose ‘
I buried my my rose,
cried for one last time & walked Away.

– Disha Tripathi

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