The lone rose
(After the lone rose seen in the Belgium airport bombing photos)
By Lind Grant-Oyeye
When winter comes and predator bears also find rest,
when transient snow mountains pile on prairie lands
and we cease to hear whispers of summer birds,
we will look up to a lone and lonely rose.
When darkness eclipse sun beams and we whisper silent words,
disembark, dismembered and damage
all sound phonetically alike, perhaps we can look up
to a single rose bud.
When hope is buried, buried in a life that wishes to spring forth,
burst forth colors of stolen seasons once again. In summer,
we will seek light in dim darkness as we wonder again:
blood is red, the floor is red, and roses are red.
Lind Grant-Oyeye was born in Nigeria. She is the recipient of the UHRSN human rights poetry award
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