MOHIT MITRA Poet Free verse

The Grammar of Thorns

Before the first tongue

suffered the burden of naming,

the garden possessed

its own onomasticon:

Leaf,

Lumen,

Lark,

and one white rose—

an inviolate effulgence

ensphered in dew.

No creature

contested its quietude.

The bee

Received.

The wind,

that elder philologer,

declined dominion.

Only the hand,

catechised by appetite,

confounded wonder

with warrant.

Then

the stem vouchsafed

its green apostrophes.

One thorn

solicited blood

before blood

solicited speech.

Yet the blossom

Withdrew

no redolence.

Its whiteness,

anamnetic of snowfall,

absolved the very air

that coveted it.

Only at vespers

did the ordinance

become legible:

the thorn

was never

the flower's severity,

but sanctity

Assuming

the grammar of sap—

Creation's final rubric,

lest beatitude,

Misparsed

as possession,

translate Eden

into rubble.

♡Like0

Share Poem

---

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Ink Empress July 18, 2026 at 2:23 AM Dear Mohit, I really like the concise manner youve worded and phrased your very intellectual thoughts here! It is so very thought provoking and deeply moving and meaningful! I must also quote "its green apostrophes.""the grammar of sap" how different and creative! I am in awe! The depth of this poem! Truly Can be perceived from so many ways! The thorn is a guard, I would say the savior of petals in bloom! Pleasure reading this ~ Sending you light always ~ MOHIT MITRA July 18, 2026 at 3:16 AM Dear IE, Your gracious words have touched the very root of the thorn I sought to unveil. I am deeply grateful for your luminous reading. Coming from a poetess whose verses transform wounds into “studded stars” and carry a “cosmic current of scars,” your appreciation of “green apostrophes” and “the grammar of sap” is itself a rare poetic grace. I have admired how your pen discovers hidden music — where a “wistful violin” becomes “soaked in soul’s rose water” and tears return as “liquid constellations.” Thus, your insight that “the thorn is a guard… the savior of petals in bloom” beautifully recognises the mystery I hoped to reveal: that protection may sometimes wear the visage of severity. Thank you, Poetess Princess, for reading beyond the blossom and discerning the covenant between its beauty and its defence.

Alison A Smith July 17, 2026 at 7:06 PM The thorn protects and reminds. MOHIT MITRA July 18, 2026 at 3:21 AM Dear Alison, Thank you for this beautifully distilled insight. “The thorn protects and reminds” touches the very mystery I seek to discover in nature’s quiet revelations. I have always felt that creation speaks through its countless forms — each carrying a purpose beyond its appearance: the thorn, the blossom, the astrum, Alison, and even the poet who observes them. When we look with reverence, nature reveals that nothing is merely placed; everything participates in a greater harmony. Grateful for your thoughtful reading and for recognising the hidden tenderness within the thorn.