The Amazon Rose. Poem by Subrata Ray

The wed-lock bed,
Was all but red,
And no dregs of gray,
Haunted there,
The bride came up,
With all her wild harps,
And ignited the hidden fire.

The unquenched groom,
Found a room,
With the highs of his all desire,
The Amazon Rose fanned her poetry,
And reduced into ash the groom’s fire.

An equally violent she sought a mate,
Who had more than tsunami’s flood,
The Amazon queen, made so many ruins,
To blackened –crude and bluish –blood.

Imbecile, impotent, and quick-fall,
With sound and fury, they came all,
But none she thought, for her brought,
A saturation made of cannon ball.

The Amazon queen, seeks ruins and ruins,
And blooms on man-eater’s tree,
She arrests looks, employs hooks,
And herself remains ever free.

Some haggard bankrupts, yawn and say,
‘The house of illusion, the Maya, she may,
And no man ever can estimate her worth,
She is combined divine and wine by her birth.