Beauty's rose wilts 
 and petal by petal,
shard by shard;
Faster than fantasy-
time relapses
~
Beauty's rose wilts-
it's soils all settle
Erosion by erosion,
slower than springtime;
the future arrives.
Beauty's rose,
But a wilt!
without trophy or medal,
condolences, by condolences,
at our own paces-
the past persists.



Black flowers, wilted with time,
without beginning, nor end-
are seen;
   &  through the stained glass gaze of love,
are shimmering.

As some things/people are so beautiful
to behold. Perhaps at a necessary distance,
for their thorns makes it hard to hold.

the rose will not bloom again
only that will be left
are thorns that are wrapped around my body
pushing into my skin
bleeding blood
filled with agony

Don't be upset
with the rose
thorns are meant
to be close!

Keeping a bit private
after the night
the sun goes all out.
Over the painted rose
and through the shady clouds.

East west north and south
at the end of the day always returns
the twilight could never forget  
a lurking little mole
the sun's missing beauty spot!

The ambling twilight goes deep
it isn't all black
a full moon shines on her brow
neither the night is pitch dark
down the mountains of floating stars.

Tomorrow again yet in the broad daylight
the sun will tuck into a throw of twilight
something is still private a black mole in the light.

The wee hours late night
in a blink of an eye
blows her Niqab (veil) away.
Oh, that folds springs in style
in the chalice of rose flower
never gone with the rainbow
splash of the first light!

Stunned broad daylight
rather looses for words
punting in sleek brook of twilight
scurries back into the night.

Nightingale hisses to the silent rose
east or west north or south
every direction the winds flow
know how melodious are my songs.
The quitter I am the sweeter it's
whispers the rose!

A thorn
sits  close
to the rose.