Ariana, goes to the garden every day.

She stands beneath the tallest tree.

One by one,

She gathers the fallen wooden white roses—

those quiet, scattered blossoms.

In a small fish aquarium,

She keeps no fish—

instead, she arranges the flowers inside.

In clear water,

The wooden rosedrift like swans, afloat and still.

Each day,

She lifts the withered flowers

and tosses them into a basket beside her.

Then one day,

She goes again beneath that tall tree to gather flowers—

and sees

the yellow has faded from the roses.

Their white is no longer white—

it has turned red.

Startled,

She collects them,

Places them gently into the aquarium.

The next day—

not a single flower has withered.

The red wooden roses remain,

Deep, blood-bright.

She lifts one flower,

brings it close to her face,

and asks—

“Who has killed you?”

The wooden rose,

Their petals trembling softly, reply—

“Humans—

you,

and all of you.”

©® Farheen Akter Bhuian Nancy 

Timestamp: Probably, 2022, Rokeya Hall, DU.

English adaptation of my Bangla poem ‘কাঠগোলাপ’