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| Photo by Arno Senoner on Unsplash |
He loved flowers.
Or so it appeared.
He had a garden, a huge one.
It appeared like a garden from
a distance.
But the flowers grew in
crowded spaces.
They looked like cows in a
goshala.
Though they were cared for
better.
They got regular water and manure.
They were sheltered from the
ravages of climate change.
And when they were in full
bloom
Were plucked and wrought into
wreathes
To be laid on dead bodies
And monuments of fabricated history.
Hari OM
ReplyDeletePowerful! It just happens that I have shared poetry and how it can serve as social comment in today's post at DoWY... must be a vibe... YAM xx
Read the one you shared. Sometimes poetry becomes inevitable.
DeleteThat's the beauty of flowers, they are at both moments- happiness or sorrows
ReplyDeleteLike poetry!
Delete