There’s a secret garden,
soft pink roses in bloom,
Caressing velvet feelings,
And hidden thorns bleed.
Under the blankets of time,
At the end of a dreamy alley,
It stays there eternally spring,
With treasures of love, pain.
It’s preserved in tears, fears,
It’s embalmed in loss, regrets.
Yet I when I tiptoe back into,
Those sidewalks I un numb…
The frozen pain thaws along,
Softly melting my breaths,
And I feel slowly alive again,
Writhing and gasping in pain.
It’s my secret garden of pain,
Where i bloom and die again,
The dewy roses here are pure,
Purer than any joy in the world.
For a change choose undesired truths,
That scratch the life petals and bleed,
The pain they give are real and pure,
And if truth is beautiful, painful, sure let it be….
Just let it be….
(C) Shashikala Sasidharan, July 20,2016