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Roses roses, do they fall down

The red red rose in the bottle-green wine-bottle of elegant shape is set off perfectly against the solitary peach wall of my drawing room. Resplendent in its portion of the room it catches your attention as you sit anywhere in the room. At the neck of the bottle are the few leaves there were on the stem of the rose, bereft of thorns. They come close together, forming a perfect trio against the bottle's narrow neck through which emerges a short length of stem which almost immediately culminates in the bloom.
The rose, now 4 days old is still young. It holds within itself promises yet untold, the center still hidden away like a complex human brain, the more you decipher, the more there is to learn. The older outer petals against the long and artistic sepals turn a dark maroon and one crumbles and withers away. The tips of the numerous petals are uneven and tip out. At the bottom they are all joined together, but after rising together after a certain length they see the outer world and yearn to break away, trying to move away as far from the center as possible. The younger petals still naiive bind together closely and rise in a spiral closely guarding the center - the colour defies their youngness. They are still a bright red, unlike their older counterparts which become a deeper shade of blood.
As the filtered sunlight falls through the window glass on the surface of the numerous petals, they take on a velvety finish, with a powdery outline, just where the actual petal ends, like small wisp of the rose's essence escaping into the room's atmosphere. Pouring away, the redness escaping in a white mist, turning the rose wiser, older and also, darker.
The oldest petals learn the hardships of life away from the cozy center, and suddenly straighten up, in an attempt to come closer, to regain what they fought against in their beatiful headstrong youth. In the attempt they cocoon the younger portion of the rose, framing it in their dark withered knowledgeable frame.

The stem can be seen bare and diffused, greener but distinct through the long expanse of the smooth, urn-shaped narrow length of the now water filler Chantilly bottle. It is interupted and slightly bent away from the axis at places where thorns could have been, but are small vestigial leaf-like apparitions.
The bottle throws a light green shadow behind it, leaving a green glow on the wall and floor, instead of the grey shadows left by the rose.
A sepal peeps through the peripheri of the ever expanding rose, trying to make its presence felt, or perhaps hinting that the the rose is yet to bloom and grow to fullness. To show its preparedness for the forthcoming length of the petals, it wavers out like an almost-perfect conical shape's shadow in riples of water, springing small offsprings on both sides, ending in a sharp point, almost making up for the round and smoothness of the rose, the softness and delicateness of it.
The leaves at the bottle's black ringed neck are pointed too, with serrations on their edges and pointing up towards the rose, directing your glance towards that irregularly perfect beauty. They overlap each other at their widest, not more than a few centimiters, and open out above, in a conical shape, forming the point just before the tip of a cone, above the base, so that if the eye makes a line from the tips of the leaves, one would reach the peripheri of the rose.

But the rose grows beyond the expectations of the leaves. The petals now expand beyond their projected line. The sepal still holds out, the stems carries the weight upright, giving it moisture in the dry cool weather of Ahmedabad, and the rose continuous its quest to occupy the eternal universe, the room. It yearns out, not giving up, seeming like it intends to take over the rooms very object.

No camera can do it justice, for then it is just another rose in a room. Better photographs will have been taken against better backgrounds, in better lighting. But those roses are the object of the photographer, kept as per his wishes in select, created environments. This rose has to be see, its presence felt. This rose started its boom in this room, against this wall, and has a character and personality of its own. Moulded and created to dominate other aspects of the room. Bringing a vivid splash of living colour in the peach and cream room. Surpassing the calmness of the blue from the stones in the guppy's bowl (on the table on the opposite wall), the solidity of the colour a sharp contrast to the multicolouredness of the fish and the mellowness of the rooms decor.

How long it will reign in this room is anyones guess, but as long as it does, it will be the attention grabber. It will be in the spotlight without having any light directed at it.

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Comments

( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
sashdude
8th Jan, 2007 11:28 (UTC)
unbelievable
i cant believe you turned the image of a rose into a 1000 word post, fantastic description, best blog post in days from you.. :). I have saved it in a word file on my computer!
(Anonymous)
9th Jan, 2007 05:45 (UTC)
Well JM... its definitely well written. I liked it:)

As for further comment...ahem..we have already discussed it :D
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )

About Me


Regurgitations of my mind. Specific, Vague, Memorable, Forgettable, Thoughtless, In-depth.

More variegated than your dreams or colours off a crystal. More than I can pen down. What I can, you can read.


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