Sonal Singh On Sonal's Table
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he
placed a
single rose,
a pink blossom,
on the swing where they
used to meet, hold hands back
when the days were carefree, gay
and filled with friendship and laughter.
Their love was platonic, innocent
just like the free wind and the butterflies
but alas! what seemed was not to be for
caste, religion intervened to tear
them apart as petals wrenched from
a delicate rose, now crushed
and its fragrance wasted
in the very air
they had once breathed.
their love lost,
perished,
then
Image – Nick van den Berg via unsplash
