Flare

By Vanshita Sharma

3rd Year, BA Sociology Honours

Design: Ayushi Rani

Standing at the doors of your temple

Begging on my knees for you to make everything simple

Cried and then died at the shrine of your grace

Only to be termed as a thorn among your other grays

The old me had vanished

Contempted from your highly court

Only to be left banished.

Even a wallflower dreams to earn

But a thorn in your garden of grays seems to only run

Running from your knives and the stakes

Trying to encapsulate if it'll ever catch a break.

The beauty lies in your eyes my beloved

The creeks beneath your eyes and the mole above your lips

I could've sworn my life for you

Even if it were one of your tricks.

Foolish thorn dared to fall in love with the ruler of all gardens

Little did it know that it'll be killed with sword that had just been sharpened.

The thorn died

The ruler ruled

The shrine survived

Alas it was the lover who was left behind.

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