by Azly Rahman
In my garden I asketh
Roses why must you have thorns?
what story of life are you telling us?
as I mow the lawn with this wrecking guillotine machine in my hands
Up and down and in circles
Guillotining thousands after I stormed the Bastille
But still, roses roses why are you with thorns?
As I contemplate roses I asketh again and again
though a strange a question might it be
can a rose be not a woman but a man?
And the thorns that guard are but guardian angles?
now how could that not possibly be?
in a world as upside down as we have created it to be?
And even in my garden I shall never fail to see
As the poet Emily would too agree
Life and death
Heaven and hell
And purgatory
And the role I play in these little worlds I could see
Ah .. my garden and me

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