The sunburnt rose

 I’m a sunburnt rose in the little garden of a common man. My smile is singed with scorching May heat. These are the scorched edges born of my battle to survive and smile and spread fragrance and give nectar to these little creamy white butterflies that flutter around. They draw life from me and I take inspiration from them. Aren’t they small flying petals bravely flirting with the hot wind in this scorching heat?

I won’t say the margins of my petals are burnt. I would say they are the embroidery work born of my flirtatious ways to kiss the sunrays.  Well, no shame in that. My law is to smile, flirt, kiss and get kissed and spread fragrance. If that gives me burnt lips that’s no problem. And no problem with the sunrays either. They are what they are. I don’t blame them. Their law is to warm, mine is to smile. Don’t they give life to my frozen petals in the winters after a frosty night? When the frost melts on my lips to make me the seductive prince in the garden.

Well, that was then and now is now. Why compare dew-fresh lips with parched ones? Both are beauties in their own ways. Most importantly, both are smiles in different conditions. So no problem with the furnace of sunrays. Now they give me this beautiful embroidered smile, marking their craze for me over the borders of my petals. They can’t help it. They are in love. I look majestic with the mark of their love on my lips. Don’t I? I do, I know.

We are a few flowery soldiers fighting for love, truth and beauty on a branch. I’m in the front and would take the lead in getting my authenticity singed and branded on my petals by the fiery kiln. Then my deputy stands in wait. He would be leading the smiley charge once my burnt petals scatter to the winds. And after him, the little bud that you see just getting ready to hold the baton for love and beauty will take charge.

Love, beauty and truth are what we convey and carry across our generations. No wonder, we survive as a single entity named ‘rose’. A symbol of beauty and love. And of course smile. So we have to smile at all costs under any circumstance. If a rose won’t smile, I’m afraid smile would vanish from this small planet.

‘I’ and ‘we’ smile simultaneously. ‘I’ and ‘we’ are just the same. Due to this sameness between ‘I’ and ‘we’, I can still enjoy the full handsome youthful smile of my deputy as if it’s my own. I’m happy that all of us are roses only, not Mr. or Miss x, y, z, etc. For then our smiles would scatter and turn to pieces and my smile would become different from other roses. Thankfully we are spared of that fate.  

A smile isn’t just for full, luscious lips. It’s there for dry, parched, thirsty lips as well. A smile on parched, thirsty lips is a smile of bravery, conviction, wisdom, fortitude and determination, like mine as of now. A smile on full, luscious lips is a smile of youth, of romantic dreams, adventures and excitement like that of my deputy. A smile on a child’s lips is the purest, a rose itself. See, can you see it in the little daughterly bud? Now forget all the nagging facts of life and smile for a moment. If I can do it under the hot fiery sun, you can at least do it with all the equipment there to help you keep safe from direct bombardment by the sun.