A Drop of Blood - by great Shrinkhala Saxena

Inside my heart where my dignity lies,
Hidden from the polite world outside,
There's a rose which I once called love...
Bounded by the chains of vows I abide.

It was a rose, so passionate, so scarlet,
A divine emotion, so soft, so temperate.
Fumed by its fragrance I once felt,
A euphoric lad, so blessed, so fortunate.

Spellbound by the mania that I possessed,
Beauty also comes with a price,
As do flowers come with thorns,
I overlooked the thorns and paid the price.

I can still remember, very vividly,
The blood trickling through my fingers,
The scarlet turning to bloody red,
Even though the fragrance still lingers,

A thorn pricked, some blood was shed,
A heart was scarred, some tears were shed,
The thorn was there, the rose stood fine,
I also stood there, but the blood was mine.

Disheartened, and torn by the little thorn.
I stood there hopelessly alone,
As my life passed me by,
And with all the fragrance now gone.

There I pledged to myself then,
Not to be bled by any thorn again,
Let the scarlet be nothing but blood,
Let no fragrance entice my heart again.

I pledged to keep the rose in me,
Keep scarring my heart till eternity,
Nurturing it with my own blood,
To keep its thorn bleeding me.

So now I'm still there, Where I stood once,
With no fragrance, and the tears gone,
Wearing the smile, for the world polite,
Knowing that my life has already gone!

But still in my heart, where my dignity lies,
I nurture the rose which I once called love,
Scarring my heart and drying my tears,
But still I nurture this thing called love…..