Just like the rarest black rose
She was, a complete picture of repose.
When I first saw her, I froze
Through the stained glass window, she looked at crows.
Dark clothes, Dark eyes
Dark mansion, Dark tiles.
I was mesmerised with her gothic wiles,
But alas! I was away a hundred miles.
Just like the rarest black rose
With three shades that arose
Red, purple and maroon grows
Whose beauty is unopposed.
She doesn’t possess a black soul,
Her heart is not of coal.
Behind the layers that fold
Hurt and Pain, she holds.
Dark Rooms, Dark Nights
With her demons, alone she fights.
In her world, there are no lights,
All she had witnessed were heartbreaking sights.
She was a great Tycoon
Who inside her beholds a Typhoon
For admiring her, I’ve been called a loon
But I’ll never abandon my moon.
Just like the rarest black rose
With the world, she is not close.
With the wind, when her hair flows
At a race of its own, my heart goes.
Niharika Bhatia, 1st Year English Honors Bharati College
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