By Aolla Tripathi

The rose plant

You are my darling.
The other day I bought a stem from my neighbour’s garden,
I planted with care and called him ‘ my darling.

A black goat with a little lamb
Merry as only as they can
Entered our garden dear from the rear
Ate all the leaves sprouting
With buds and blossoms in the spring.

You are moody and schmaltzy
And would not grow, especially if
Ravished by a goat.
Unwillingly, I trimmed and slimmed you further,
Watered you profusely and turned your soil.
My endeavour
Watched by my neighbours,
Bore fruits:
You revived.


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