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“Petal by petal, the rose remembers its freshness Crying for the lost scent. A bud opened into a flower as fresh flesh that my soul took in and found a new life. Paradise sprawled into my deep, a spillage of scent, from the red blossom. This injured soul is flaming, longing to live again, in the luminous opening of a young bud.” — Jayita Bhattacharjee
Petal by petal, the rose remembers its freshness
Crying for the lost scent.
A bud opened into a flower as fresh flesh
that my soul took in and found a new life.
Paradise sprawled into my deep,
a spillage of scent, from the red blossom.
This injured soul is flaming,
longing to live again,
in the luminous opening of a young bud.