Ph: Love: A Rose By Another Name Poem by Brian Johnston

(A Modern translation by a 71 year old poet of an Old English poem penned by the 16 year old poet Yash Shinde called ‘The Rosy Lay')

Ready for a kiss the sun did rise
Warming the heart of April, it set
Love blooming in Spring's trembling bouquet
Yet, a single red rose caught my eyes.

Much paler were voluptuous blooms
Of Angoora Van's* garden's carnage,
Heart's blood brought like dew to her visage,
Her sweat shining like pearls in throne rooms.

Her vapors evanesced in the air,
Her movements set my heart in motion,
In her wake, just peace, no commotion.
Like IMAX** with red everywhere.

How I did long to touch with my hands
The moist flesh of this flower's petals
No time for connection that settles,
I was fearful of her reprimands.

Even in dreams, hand pricked by a thorn,
That just thought of counting her virtues,
No trust in art and letting her choose,
Might a parallel love have been born?

Just a scar remains of this love now,
Buried deep where love's knife can not reach,
No one knows so it cannot impeach.
Still it leaves my heart weaker somehow.

It's so sad, even earth's tears shed dry,
My kiss and poem led to slaughter.
Gardens languish stripped of their water,
Must wait for Spring as old buds all die.

For my weakness of heart I feel shame,
But it's not because I didn't win,
I will evolve, no thanks to Darwin,
New love bloom, but I don't know Red's name.