Flowers & Torment
A Poem
We've all been killers; killing parts of ourselves and others to prolong ourselves out of our dolour.
Sprinkling tears on the flowers
To grow my fears on the ground
Watch them crookedly grow
While they beg for some holy rain dew
Crawling on the floor, asking for some help
No one gets to hear, for their faces have been threaded,
Together with their mates.
Decorated with ropes tied around their waists,
Lovely, love notes stuck with thin rods around their necks,
Hidden all their traces of grieves and lament with fresh fragrances of lavender droplets —
A flower crushed to death, drenched in water and chemicals to draw beauties out of deads.
Suffocated with walls — covered them with plastic, beaten them to become sheets,
Beads rolled, prisoned with glue stuck onto the walls,
Thin ribbons ripped off of their spirals,
Twisted, knotted, loosened, tightened to meet death while they hang with the flowers.
Oh you call it to love my dear
Giving your partner flowers of fear
You only see one perspective, not the rear
Don’t limit your mind, see the rare
It hides truths and deaths,
Fallacies and treaties
Of struggles and wars
That were although fought but, behind the walls and beneath the graves,
Behind the faces and beneath the voices.
© Aasma Gupta 2021
