Interview with Kate Wade
Sketching In the Field
News for August
The Truth is Ugly
White Rosesby R J Kalpana
White roses, frozen cold
Do they but rest awhile
Under the melting snow
Or are they crushed under the heavy boot
That lifts in pallid ignorance
O wind! Blow, blow the roses away
The smell of death still lingers
The sights of virgin decay strewn
Along the way. Blow aside the curtain
That keeps life from me
Blow, blow my mind away.
No bruises on ornamental petals
No thoughts, just old white memories
Of shooting stars and the first glimmering drop.
Wind! Whistling past opened caves
Swoop down in the blue steel of night
Brush blots of read on white roses with
Spirals of snow. Drag refusals of dreams
Across the stillness of death.
And no more glide to kiss the airy feet of tyrant Aeolus
But curl a place, at the last tremor of white roses
And blow yourself away.
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