They Are Called Rose

They are called rose
And are treated like a rose.

Plucked from the gardens,
Shoved forcefully into pockets.
(Thorns are there,
but the hands are not human.)

Their smell is devoured on insanely,
Sucked out of all sweetness.
The petals stripped out one by one,
Only to be crushed by the
Lovers’s fist and
Blown away to be trampled.

The dry sepals shamefully try
To cover the bare receptacle.
Helpless yellow hairs cry out
For help, they waver.
Many eyes see, lips smile,
“Aww lovely Rose,
You are planted to be plucked.”
Mercilessly the hands play
With the pure pristine parts.

With a refreshed happy whistle,
Thrown neglectly on roads.
The well-cultured dispose them
Nicely in bin carts.

© Muntazir
Picture Credit

3 thoughts on “They Are Called Rose

  1. Very well written with great insights. Thanks a lot for sharing. 🙏🌹

  2. Oh.it is destiny of every flowers in all gardens of this world.so much tragic tale.most beautifully written,dear Muntazir!!

  3. गुलाब़ खिलता है इंसानों की बगिया को महकाने की खातिर;
    और खेल बन जाता है दरिन्दों के मन बहलाव की खातिर।
    इनके हाथों में प्यार नहीं होता कि काँटें में भी ताब नही कि खार-खार कर दे।
    पर कय़ामत के दिन ख़ुदा के फ़रमान से गुलाब की हर हाय से नरक के काँटे इनकी रूह की साँस दुश्वार कर दें।
    हाँ वो गुलाब़ कह जाते हैं गुलाबी अहसास वालों के लिये फ़कत।
    पर बेगुलाब कर जाता है नाकद्रदारों की जिन्दगी बन के कैक्टस।
    बहु ही गहरी बात छिपी है आपकी कविता में,मुन्तजिर ज़नाब!!

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