I saw her mourn in orange tears,
Her own death coffined in broken shards of
Ripened yellows,
Her tangy veins frosted in brine,
Glistening in final shafts of the tuscan sky,
That slowly changed to bitter wails,
Her once blossomed visage of plush pinks
Now remaining a scarred panorama
Of scarlet chips;
Birds sing an eulogy grieving her casket,
Adorned with broken petals of her
Once sparkling youth seeping into her tomb,
A chaff of vermilion rust tinged in bronze;
Slowly she is buried into the chasms,
Wrapped in heaves of amber fragments
Her perfume still, a lingering remnant;
I pined to tell her how beautiful she looked, still,
an array of colors trumpeting her death,
Instead I watch her recede into a realm
Of ultimate yellows,
In time to return to the charred dregs,
Silently echoing a beautiful love.
-Rupa
