the branches lower their head
 adorned with hidden thorns
     and the rose petals dripping mud
 drops, the sizzling sky melt
     like crystallized coconut oil left
 under the summer’s sour moon
     the fragrant harvest glows rushing
 in the search of love essence
     wind flow within the petals that
 collapse on the wet grass
     kissed by the touch of monsoon
 dangling on mango trees
      on any other day, the wilted
 oblivion sojourn the crooked
      patches, the very space currently
 rainflowing like a stream of
      its own, shinning with beams
 of an artificial sun lamp
      hanging upside down, on
 a maroon wall creeps the
      silhouette of flushed dewy limbs
 of windswept flower trees
      burdened down from the weight
 of dampened crapemyrtle
     the cold wind waft with the earthly
 scent wrapped in rose
      water and dry woods to pry
 away the yellow umbrella
     in my hand now stuck within
 a tall bramble, unkempt.
Comments