Slowly maturity catches on in beautiful shape
Like rising flames of a lit candle
Slowly melting its smooth white host in scandal
Conspicuous to eyes
For its footfall certainly not lies
Providence vanishes in the way
Of embracing hearts
As a bat jumbled in a sunny day
Crossfire, oblivious of hovering darts,
Innocent of the conspiring locust
Waiting patiently at all cost
To rape.

Your rest bed made for comfort
Like fresh weaves of fabrics for the skin
Of arriving zygote in tears of tort.
Your smiles a million admiration clean.
Soothing in touch,
With supple skin to bruise rocky hearts,
As touch of the soft fingers on Samson’s hairs
Amazing in to watch
Like steadfast gazes on ballerina
In the halls of her concert in her move of countless flairs
Naive of the happy buzzing locust in the starts

In sprite wishes you springy
In exposure of all you are wingy
To take flight even when all is windy
You are deeply rooted in the counterfeit soil
Like the toes of a baobab tree in the loam.
It is you natural beauty I seek
In pelted fortitude for a thousand week
Like a traveler tossed in the desert scorch.
I write of your roseate
Only as now my eyes rotate in their socket in weak state
Of the muscular soreness of penitence
As I see the locust in the rosebuds

My countenance was vivacious,
Your songs on my lips unremittingly raucous.
The beauty of your rosary is my child,
That even in critics, I do not chide.
Pessimistic I have become to hold the incubation
Because there lies the locust of annihilation
With green eyes on your roseate
Determined to snatch like a thief before sunrise
Still my heart waves the banner of your glories
So lies the locust in a patiently scoffing state
To eat all beauty present in you

Your leaves are fast shedding
In an untimely measure,
Dropping in a frightful frigid pleasure.
Before you are guested for wedlock
As bouquet for that gleeful spinster
Unknown of your sinister
Like wolves behind a rock
Waiting in the silence to plunge souls and hearts
As Spartan spear
Which inject fear,
In the fine woods of Persian carts.
Why make my eyelids open in leaks?
Drip drop the locust in you thus so do.

Every sight of your bud is tears.
Locust of the rosebuds
How long will you taunt
And make buoyant my heart’s fears?
I speak for all buds in the rosary.
I ask in voice of all beds my roses lay
In which yourruin has lost its count
May be when all exultant supple petal lines fade
Or when all ingestions retires to constipation
Like a dinning runner in a bloody raid
With full mouth still wry

Oh locust! When will your greed cease?
And turn aside eyes from my rosebud?
Is it at the turn of all fluids in body colours skin?
Or when all hopeful thoughts
Resigns from supper to forced cradles
With tragedy lying beside in merry?
Goodbye for goodnight
As last words the heart must ponder over
For morning dreams
Oh locust! Go out and stay for you must
The abrasions of my petals leaks red.
But know you all who leaks red with me
As I say to roseate
There is locust in the rosebuds.