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You are like the cursed garden of roses.
One who enters the maze,
Is trapped in a cage of crimson thorns,
Hanging above the sea of mistrust and tears.
I stared long, how alluring was this deceptive lust?
'There are roses in every garden'
I took a silent step back,
But in those five minutes of indecision
You had tangled to my hand.
And even after freeing myself,
Between the petals and needles,
Your touch had painted me in fragrance.
It was your mark
And the bees followed it too.
And looking at a small scar on my hand,
I realised.
That behind the melodies of fragrance,
There was a soft undertone of blood and tears.
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