The Rose Refuses To Discharge Its Scent This Year

Petals closed, Pale colour, Bending leaves, Bound roots, This season is not like others, The drought, the cracking earth, The war, the calamity, Had all contributed to its sadness, Others are even worse, Pele-mêle, Here and there, Lying on the ground, As though they had aggressively been, De-rooted, cut off from their earthly warmth, And suddenly an unexpected storm, Poured from the sky, lightning, A bolt of thunder and, Torrent of rains, Then back again, to life, Petals invitingly open themselves, Leaves standing up like a hound, vigilant dog's ears, And roots vibrate as an early warning radar, But still no smell, no scent, A rose that does not smell, it is not worthy of the name.