Prabhakar Subramaniam

Bees hum around

The dead roses

Being strung

Into garlands,

The flower-seller

Has kept aside

Two of the best blossoms for me,

She knows what I prefer -

Something not fully awake

Something between bud and flower

Something wanting to be loved

Yet not wanting to be violated

As I walk away from the heady fragrance

With a half-flower planted in my hair

The bees like eyes

Follow me unrequited

Drawn by the smell of death