In the chills of the early spring
Amidst all flowers – red, blue and pink,
There blooms a rose that is oh, so black
With a fate so doomed and a future dark.
Little kids playfully, pluck the flowers in mirth
And curse the black rose, for their thorns hurt.
But don’t they know all the roses have thorns!
Alas, they see all this – fault of this cursed one.
Lovers and friends adore roses of all kinds
But forbidden is the one that is pitch black,
As no one cares to feel its divine fragrance, but
All they know of it is – “That symbol of bad luck.”
The nightingale – a friend in need indeed
Inspired by Oscar Wilde’s petty fleet
Set its heart bare to erase the colours of Fate
And to re paint the black rose all red.
The black rose cried, the nightingale bled
Till the last drop was soaked in the black rose stem
But now there is a dead heart, completely dry
And the condemned black rose still stands without friends for life.