Ph: Echo Poem: Different Strokes Poem by Brian Johnston

An Echo Poem by Yash Shinde and Brian Johnston

The Rosy Lay

Ready for a kiss did sun rise,
gleaming, shimmering in the April sky,
had set to bloom bouquets of love,
a rose among them caught my eye...

And made me notice for the first time
the alluring blooms of Angoora van,
and the dew drops running down her curves,
glistening in the golden sun....

They evanesced in the air, left her crimson petals free
a fragrance in air did she spread,
the mist left bare a blossom of love,
...covered in carmine hues of red...

And I did feel with my hands,
the seraph, seraph touch of rose
In blooms, in showers in waning crescent
...made she place in every prose.

The hand that penned ran across her curves,
drip-drip the blood it shed...
ran across a prickly thorn,
through hands that never hadst wept.

Left a scar, an impression of love
deep where no blade could reach,
I sealed the cracks, oh fool I was,
dug behind a deeper breach..

For the kiss awaited was never delivered,
tears did shed O! mighty earth
had set to fire myriad hues,
and had shut close each bud till next birth...

There as remnant in the carmine flesh of mine,
the deep impression of the barb did stay.
...Love never ends sans pain,
But ends here the Rosy lay..

Yash Shinde

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A Rose By Another Name

(A Modern translation by a 71 year old poet of an Old English poem penned by the 16 year old poet Yash Shinde called ‘The Rosy Lay'}

Ready for a kiss the sun did rise
Warming the heart of April, it set
Love blooming in Spring's trembling bouquet
Yet, a single red rose caught my eyes.

Much paler were voluptuous blooms
Of Angoora Van's* garden's carnage,
Heart's blood brought like dew to her visage,
Her sweat shining like pearls in throne rooms.

Her vapors evanesced in the air,
Her movements set my heart in motion,
In her wake, just peace, no commotion.
Like IMAX** but with red everywhere.

How I did long to touch with my hands
The moist flesh of this flower's petals
No time for connection that settles,
I was fearful of her reprimands.

Even in dreams, hand pricked by a thorn,
That just thought of counting her virtues,
No trust in art and letting her choose,
Might a parallel love have been born?

Just a scar remains of this love now,
Buried deep where love's knife can not reach,
No one knows so it cannot impeach.
Still it leaves my heart weaker somehow.

It's so sad, even earth's tears shed dry,
My kiss and poem led to slaughter.
Gardens languish stripped of their water,
Must wait for Spring as old buds all die.

For my weakness of heart I feel shame,
But it's not because I didn't win,
I will evolve, no thanks to Darwin,
New love bloom, but I don't know Red's name.

Brian Johnston

*Angoora Van - A famous Rose Garden in India.
**IMAX - A 3D surround screen movie experience in the US.