The Flower And Its Shadow Poem by SATANICK MUKHUTY

Oh! Its the sweet-heart of daylight!

What lush hue,
Of its mellow petals!
How vibrant are,
The myriad tints!

The beautiful!
There it stands gracefully,
Gleaming almost in beauty.

But by it, lies,
Perhaps more subdued,
In cool repose,
Its ugly alter-ego.

Easily escapes it
That notice and attention,
That gaze of admiration.

That with it no one tampers,
No one cares or bothers
Its sole saving grace.

It possess no form or beauty,
Nor colour or charm.
But appeased it needs to be!

Gracefully,
It Fashions being appeased.

Only from its more perfect counter-part
Borrows it somehow,
Anyhow!
Its defining contour.

Ah! But hardly can it steal
All those grand shades,
The rich exotic forms.

How pitiable!
But pities it none.
The silhouette of beautiful,
The love-lorn shadow of lovely.

So who knows more,
The pangs of deprivation?

Whose life more futile,
That one aught not
Call it life?

Too long it borne,
The pain of not being splendid
But being in company of it.

Now mustered Strength it,
To make the leap
To life!
Or into death.

Fears it not
The abyss of non-existence
But tired it is very much
Of this pseudo-existence,
This damnable mire!