Humera Sultana (Hyderabad, India.)
I saw a rose bloom on my grave
Crimson in the hues of passion
Drenched in the tears of dew
It flayed in the mild brisk soft wind
Its fragrance heralded the dawn.
A deep flush dyed my soul
As I dug into its roots
Its soil had swelling germs of compassion
And it whispered to me-
“My roots go deep down into the grave
They suck the love that spread
Like blood in its vein and skin
And coil up in the cavity of a hollow heart.
A heart that enshrines the stoniness of Kabaa
The purity of Zamzam and the strength of Faith
A corpse whose nerves lay martyrized
But purified and invigorated
By unrequited love.”
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