Red Roses

Everyone I know kept telling me
It cannot come true -
Because the red Roses don’t grow
In frigid winters, under the snow

But they do…

In the mid of the treacherous ice-storms
That wrap the leafless land in the blizzards
When the air is filled with sharp needles
So every single gasp and breath hurts

Their elegant, burgundy-red petals
Are the contrast against white, eloquent dunes
When they fall down to the pallid ground
Look like droplets of blood on the snow

While white squalls gobble up every inch of terrain
And bare trees crack under icy burdens
The stubborn Roses would sprout and grow
Even though it’s wrong season to bloom

It does not matter that no one believes
They all look through the crystal frames
The enigma and magic of sub-zero winter
That master, night-frost, secretly paints

But I believe …

The never-ending river of snowflakes
Bit by bit makes snowbound every soul
Like incessant hate of the people
Binds them over anything that could be different

They crush and trample on all the red blossoms
Because no Rose should grow in the snow
And once the sun falls asleep on the horizon
The winter in sorrow changes its ways

Grandly the night sky, like always
Wears its white pearls and black onyx
While the rest of the world is kept captive
by the cunning of their bewitching dreams

Finally the winter unfolds its feather-blanket
To protect dying Roses from the freezing stares
And gently covers up the last few of the petals
While its warm embraces will wipe away the tears

Although, then again people often do say -
Don’t touch the red Roses with prickly stems
Look out for the thorns in the palms of your hands
They can cut deep wounds that forever will stay

But we still do...

Häly Laasme