To flowers once said a dour thorn

I Forever doomed as villains causing pain, Condemned as the outlaws of cruel kinds— What an old prejudice, mindless refrain Repeated ad nauseam, heavy that grinds, And error all the same of humankind, Yet, thorns for sure, villains we never are, Ye flowers hide a harsher front behind, We may have a cruel look, but kindly core. Your blossoms of springtime maddened by breeze Oft steal a caress at an early dawn, Or take young buds in spring on life’s new lease, Who love to get a spike of a naïve thorn. Now, be thou thy own judge and do tell us: Who’s innocent, who has harsh animus? II Tell us, who has passion, who impassion, Thy red blossom no less than red rage is To us— lifelong mendicants on mission— Ye lure and sway meditating sages Whensoever your spring blossoms embrace, And try to sway us from acetic course, Still, we thorns never once have lost our grace, But blamed no less still in people’s discourse That guileless always be good-looking skin, Not those like us with a rough exterior, Who scarce evil are from their core within, Such be the ways of this world of error— Cupid’s arrow shoots with a fair flower, And Shiva’s trident fair blessings shower. III Yet, Cupid’s arrow, not Shiva’s trident, And flowers ‘tis that get vacuous praise, Whilst trident’s arrow not but critique blasé, A sure attack on truth, no accident. Why, wonder I, He that a trident bear, Cares for no worship done with the flowers. He scorches passion, poison of world bear, Why Shiva above all deities towers. The way arrows are, no flower’s renown, Arrows point to directions, in clocks time, And all great kings wear a thorn-studded crown…. Not flowers, thorns command a place of prime. Lo, flowers, thorns both born, rooted in clay, We lone are doomed to live a life of lay! ________________________________________ Crown of Sonnets |07.03.2024| flower, thorn