Disconnected

Disconnected

The soft delicate flower
white, wet , weary
tormented by last night's rain
looked away at my glance.

The drops on the petals,
the tiny pearls,
sparkled proudly and perfectly
in the golden rays of a fresh morning,
like a flawless existence.

I moved forward
to feel the careless quiver
of petals
beholding perfection so divine.

At my slightest touch
the flower scattered.
Petals revealing the paleness
stained with fresh pink lines.

Wrinkles or bruises, I wondered.

Perhaps it had rained too much.
Perhaps the winds were wild.
Perhaps the bonds were not so strong.

I looked at that spot,
where the flower had rested till now
where it had bloomed and fought
and then hung all along.

Dutifully disconnected...

Anshu Johri

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