Discarded Beauty


Ten pale pink roses in a pristine white box
The prettiest girl in the office swooned
The blush on her cheeks could make it a dozen

A tiny bud of hope blooms within me
a vain endeavour to overshadow
perennial blooms of cynicism
Perhaps this is the year I’ll get some too
No sooner than I think the thought
it turns flaccid
The only roses I get are the ones I buy

Maybe I’ll send myself a bunch
pretend it is from someone special
like the engineer who, with a lover’s precision,
blossomed on the pages of the morning paper
for splurging $5,500 on a hundred roses
for his lady love

Even as my heart sighs
my practical mind draws up a list –
exotic holidays
shoes
dresses
perfume
bags
fancy dinners
So much I can do with the money
Who needs roses anyway?

All day the pretty flowers
sit discarded in a forlorn heap
the beauty slowly wilting out

Out of pity I take them home

© 2015 Uma Venkatraman ~ All Rights Reserved

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