I hold the withered petals
of my illusions
in my hand.
Then I throw them on the ground
and lift my foot
to trample upon them....
But I can't,
Because I can't be cruel,
Because it hurts,
Because it is painful....
So I pick up again the withered petals
of my illusions
To keep for the cruel, cynical woman
I would be in a few years
For the woman in a desolate place
Who, with a cruel and sinister laugh,
would fling away the withered petals
Among the debris
in disgust
with me, with herself, and the ways of love.
Jasbir Chatterjee
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-withered-petals/
