Two Roses

by Bhargab Chatterjee

I hope to know you again.
I do hope
because every flower starts glowing
being withered.
Who walked
between the rose of yesterday
and the rose of this morning?
Spines are the stony steps
to the caves of Altamira.
The bones could have been beemed
with the mellow light
of the yesterday's rose.
Or the bones could have been burnt
with the fire
of the rose of this morning.
Between the two roses
the dome of my pain
is now the only room
wherein I am cooped up
having fled from all suns.