You Hated Roses

You hated roses, dispassionately, you told me later,
Raising my left brow, in disbelief, surreptitiously, I did ponder.
But next to a grinning yellow minion, dressed in blue, without a nose
You did, amidst your fountain pens, keep that silly crimson rose.
It wilted with time, morphing into a shade of muddy brown,
And crisp to the touch, a few petals crumbled down.
Was there an ashtray, a white and red miniature drum, I remember not?
For the once pleasant memories have now trickled to a blurred dot.

My phone would rest upon the bedside table each Sunday night,
Set to three annoying alarms, the last one at thirty and five.
Dozing, trying to be awake, my eyes would lazily droop,
While you, mirthfully, binged over Will and Grace at a constant loop.
And resting my messed up hair upon your marshmallow arm,
I would soon drift into a slumber, dreaming of our home without a harm.
Waking up at three, I’d hunt, under the sheets, for the remote,
And snuggling next to you, turning the TV off, I’d grab you amorously close!

Without a notice, one balmy afternoon, you said it was all over,
Tears rushing down pale cheeks, my heart was torn asunder.
Despair and disbelief, unfathomable, I sank in a drowning tide of emotions
But to heal a broken heart, despairingly, there exists no manna or potions.
Listening to broken conversations inside my head, I counted lizards on the wall,
And living through the insipid weeks, I witnessed a coppery summer change to fall.
An azure winter sky, frost upon leaves, shrouded me in their comforting dampness,
Refuting but acquiescing, I surrendered and submitted to the stifling stillness.

Spring, polychrome, arrives and kisses the hibernating gladiolus bulbs to life,
But the shattered million pieces, within my bosom, finds no reason to strive.
Dainty marigolds, golden orange, hysterically beckon to a yellow bee,
Shivering, they whisper, ‘life must go on’; hitherto, a truth I had refused to see.
Emerging, languidly, I step towards a life I had deliberately paused,
Upon streets, to bookstores, I walk, gazing at life, with an interest renewed.
A little girl with a bunch, approaches and ‘a rose to buy’, to me she proposes,
Smiling, I buy a stalk and placing it on my sling bag reminisce ‘You hated roses’.

Image Credit: Akshar Dave from Pexels

84 thoughts on “You Hated Roses

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  1. this is terrific writing right from its strong beginning through its twists and turns to its strong, affirmative conclusions. So good i read it twice — and thanks for commenting on my Drabble piece; I replied 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Loved this Parikhit. The metaphor of the rose from the love it symbolises, to the memory that it holds, from its treasured temporariness, to its reappearance with renewed hope, so beautifully delved into by you.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Weaving tales in a poem demands a great effort and yours is outshining here. I particularly loved the way you described episodes of good memories, it was warm and soothing to read.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Wow! Parikhit, you wrote a book, a complete story in a poem! The melancholy of the rose is haunting throughout and the way your verses flowed and mingled describing the story as it unfolds, had me entranced! What a powerful writer you are! How you transform letters and words into a spun tale is such a Gift! How I loved this!! You took me away right with the first line as I almost held my breath to see where this story led. You need to be really proud of yourself with this one!! BRAVO!! xo

    Liked by 2 people

  5. Poetry. A story. It was both. Parikhit this was beautiful. Heart aching. But heart ache is often beautiful when expressed and detailed in poetry. But, by the end I was saying in my head, but YOU like the roses!! And I was relieved when the roses were accepted and not less appreciated because someone else did not like them. That is encouraging, and that is moving on.

    Liked by 3 people

    1. Thank you so much 🙂 That’s the strange beauty of heart-ache-finds a friend in prose and poetry and songs! You are right about accepting and moving on. A rose, in this case becomes a sweet reminder of a good time that was. It ended so that better things could begin.

      Liked by 1 person

  6. I sensed a deep and profound introspection written beautifully and closed with a golden broach. These words at the end are very very meaningful and very reminiscent of things that have happened to us all, yet you have stated them in the most artistic manner…
    “Shivering, they whisper, ‘life must go on’; hitherto, a truth I had refused to see.
    Emerging, languidly, I step towards a life I had deliberately paused,
    Upon streets, to bookstores, I walk, gazing at life, with an interest renewed.
    A little girl with a bunch, approaches and ‘a rose to buy’, to me she proposes,
    Smiling, I buy a stalk and placing it on my sling bag reminisce ‘You hated roses’.”
    Very good work my friend…
    All the best,

    Liked by 4 people

  7. Parikhit, this is splendid, the unfolding of s story… especially that spectacular end…you outdo yourself!

    Moments and images of the rose and the thwarted lover took me back to Oscar Wilde’s The Nightingale and the Rose.

    Liked by 4 people

      1. I don’t think I’ve ever read a modern Wilde but you certainly seem to embody facets of similar sensibility and pure, childlike emotion with prosaic poetry. I’m honoured that you look forward to my words. You certainly are one of the best writers here.

        Liked by 1 person

      1. We are blessed with overcast sky and merry grey clouds that threaten to burst forth any minute. I just love rainy days and overcast skies, as much it is detested. There is something nostalgic about these days 🙂 I do hope you are having a peaceful day Marie


      2. Parikhit, we get plenty of those days in Ireland but thankfully since lockdown weather has been really good. We had 20 degrees today which is as hot as I like and as good or better than many days in June, July or August and a real bonus for April. So, I can safely say I had a wonderful, peaceful day!

        Liked by 2 people

  8. First of all, I love your blog name. Those trees with a melancholic vibes are so beautiful.
    And your poem! How love it is. So peaceful yet melancholic. And especially the way you ended, with a ray of hope for starting everything over anew.

    Liked by 3 people

    1. Thank you so very much Amartya! I grew up in the mountains and pine trees have always been special to me. 🙂 And thank you again for your wonderful words. It means a great deal coming from you. I have always believed in some inherent goodness behind every act, which some day, may be today, may be much later, appears before us. And hope is something that keeps us stay afloat.

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much for the encouragement Neel 🙂 You are right, oftentimes we assume that ‘this’ is the end but there is also the message that the end ushers a new beginning-a new day, like you wrote. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  9. Beautiful and moveing, sweet and sorrowfull…but overflowing with hope and the sweetness of love’s promise of renewal, the gift of innocence and life evident all around us. Blessings and love to you, dear Pari *daffodilas in snow**willows in mist**sunbeams through clouds*

    Liked by 5 people

    1. Thank you so very much Punam 🙂 I have my limitations, truly and there are flashes of inspiration. I had written this when I had taken a hiatus from blogging and posted it only now. You are right loss of love is rather a new beginning towards others things in life. One just has to be quite certain that there are other good things that are waiting to happen.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. You are so welcome. 😊
        We all have limitations and though it is easier to play to our strength, pushing boundaries can leave us pleasantly surprised ( most times). Romantic love is often too romanticized. But I must admit, heartbreak is very good material for poetry writing. 😀

        Liked by 1 person

  10. This is an exquisite fusion of poetry and autobiographical prose. I can relate to this work on so many levels. On the one hand, it can be reassuring to have a heart, like the narrator’s, which continues to love, even when the loved one inexplicably declares an end to the relationship or a loss of passion at the very least. The narrator’s love is, in that sense, victorious and indomitable. On the other it takes weeks and months for the pain to subside in reality. And then, the little girl who manages to sell the narrator a rose brings back other emotions. These echo the surreptitous memory of the ex actually having held onto the gift, the rose, that she claims to have “hated.” And the narrator also cleverly allows that memories fade, like the dried up rose. This rose the original lover left behind, but life goes on. The narrator now has a rekindled interest in books. Spring arrives and the narrator smiles. He barters with the young rose merchant and places a new rose in a sling basket. It is a gift to himself, maybe? Like the writing, now complete. Thank you for more spontaneous excellence Parikhit. Now I must attend to some writing of my own today!

    Liked by 6 people

    1. I am always short of words when I have to reply to you Xavier! You give a meaning that my eyes fail to see in so many instances. It does take months and years for a broken heart to heal, to be itself. Certainly the memories fade, but they are lodged deep inside the convolutions of the mind and a simple act, a rose, can bring back those memories that a person held onto dearly and in some levels still does. 🙂 Thank you so much for your words.


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