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