Sunday, February 5, 2012


Rejected and dejected,
He fell on the ground
When the King’s gardener
Let him slip away,
And admired the bouquet
His friends made.

Silently sobbing
He lay on the ground
Thinking of the princely vase
Whose comfort was gifted,
To his friends, by Fates.
Fates- who played with his existence.

Suddenly picked up,
By an innocent toddler of three-
Who rushed to his Mother
Holding this precious gift.
‘Happy birthday Ma’
Was all, the flower heard,
And knew his destiny was
Rosier than the others.

While his friends withered
In a princely corner, unnoticed,
He was a part of the purest
Relation on the Earth.
Now his friends are buried
Deep down under, soiled.
And his dried petals still find
A place in a family album.

Since that day he silently sings,
Not heard by many though,
“Some grapes might be sour, but not all,
‘Rejection’, really, is not that cold.”

-Vaisakhi Mishra