Sunk in the mountain of files, I looked up to see roses;
Day after day, unfailingly the mali keeps them in the flower vase
In the hope of brightening my room and dark tempers;
The Bangalore roses come in their own twirls and colours
To adorn my table and cheer my heart everyday.
I paused and took my mind away from files
To feel the beautiful red roses from lovely Bangalore.
At once my mind raced to think of those lovely lines
From Juliet to Hamlet to Wordsworth to umpteen poets
Who had written all those great lines on roses.
It rekindled the rainbow years of my life
When the vanished but never forgotten sweetheart
Would give me a rose on every new year’s eve promising love;
But like all new year promises and hopeful wishes,
The promises soon became a distant forgotten dream.

I paused again to look at the roses in the vase;
At once, I felt a stab in my heart to think of my cruelty
To the softest and most beautiful of all flowers on earth;
What mean delight is this to snatch it from its
Mother stem, transport it and stick it out in captive vases
Away from its mother leaves and roots and golden sunshine;
My heart sank low as I thought of my meanness;
What a wretch am I as compared to these roses
That even in death from their roots, its radiant still.

Still, the stemless roses shone in their sunny lustre
Unmindful of the wretched captivity imposed on them;
Soft petals in unrivalled amazing colours lingered on
Spreading happiness and radiant fragrance in my room.
Every visitor praised them and wondered aloud
On their delightful beauty that looked fresh all day long;
Many a lover must have won his sweet heart this way,
Many a dull moment must have vanished this way;
Far from its mother roots that gave them life,
The roses have come to add life to my soul.

But then, the radiant roses taught me a lesson;
To be cheerful, happy and useful at all times
Till the sun goes down yielding in time momentarily
To the creeping darkness of eternal dust;
Never again would melancholy cross my soul;
Never never again would my heart be cruel
To snatch the child rose from its mother stem;
I would now go to the roses to gaze in fantasy
The daily celebration of its life in joyous wonder
As it steals its moments of glory in the morning sunshine.