There was that rose
I gave to my clever and smart friend
because I wanted her as ‘my only’ friend.
That one I got the first time
he’d thought I was intelligent and taller.
And then I got another and another
Some of them found place in the special diary
dried until the pages smelt rosy.
Red, pink, fragrant ones
accommodated many diaries.
But time flies, you move from places;
dried petals find trash bins.
And still, several moons later you love to get flowers;
When you’re a girl you believe
you’re meant to receive flowers.
But some girls like to return favors.
To that teacher who taught well, and wasn’t as pretty;
the friend who stood by the odds, staying invisible.
To that one who was clumsy in love and didn’t know a thing about roses.
And the one whom you told about roses and still didn’t get a cue.
Many years later you want to grow a rose garden and return favors.