The Journey The Journey 2017 - 18 - Page 53

R Prathyusha Madhu Grade XII GPS(I) a single rose rises from the earth, red ink, dripping down its petals that fall softly onto the brown blending, like blood on skin (is it love, that paints or poison that taints) I look at it with eyes, fluttering; a normal visual field is 180 degrees, a half circle yet the rose takes every inch of s p a c e that remains and I feel my lungs constrict like loose strings pulled together or the tightening of a cord and I cannot b r e a t h e because it is too heavy, I cannot carry the weight of this truth that will never set me free (is this what it feels to be global public school asphyxiated by nothingness) I feel the wheels (of memories) turn inside me I am shrinking, my body is slowly going back in time and I scream, but it is futile. I stand in a field (of red roses) dusted with white dots that fly (away along with my dreams) everything feels hazy but I feel warmth (of a mothers hold) caress my forehead and touch my cheeks, parting with a smile (of sympathy) the hand lets go and I am alone and it is dark and grainy I must ask one last time, the red that envelops my heart is it love, that paints or poison that taints. 53