THE BLACK ROSE

The Black Rose.

Rapuluchukwu a Nigerian history student travelled to Turkey in November of 2017 for his research into the lives and culture of the turks but instead of finding history, history found him.

This faithful Friday he came to the resting place of the father of turks.... It was beautiful, the garden magnificent and the Arabic insignia which bore the words "peace" rested at approximately 60 CM off the foot of the father of turk's resting place.

     There was Something about this resting place, on Rapulu's departure he saw a black rose flower, glowing like it has gotten it's manure exactly from the king's remains, it's petals were brighter than coal, it's stem firm like iron bars, the petals were stretched with vigor like the blades of a Russian fighter jet helicopter, it was nothing short of beautiful.

It was in a conspicuous location but for some reason it was not noticed by Rapuluchukwu.

  it was hiding in plain sight, Missing on the stage of this tomb.

Rapuluchukwu has been meticulous with the pictures he took and had covered the  length and breadth of the tomb but for some reason this flower wasn't in the collection of the shots he took, he could literally swear that that flower came to life only as he stepped into this catacomb. He felt it was a sign, a message that he was accepted into this place of memory and beauty.

All what Rapulu thought of, was how this flower could be his, take it home? He thought of, hell no! he said to himself because it was the property of the state of Turkey, a National offence.

Rapuluchukwu, stepped closer and felt the radiating beauty from this plant the concise creativity of Allah. The black rose was beautiful, the smell as he breathed the air was over pouring and powering, yet nobody in all the tourist stood to enjoy the sight of this flower, in that instance he knew he had a personal connection with this rose. The rose of Kemal Atatürk.

THE POEM.

Your stem, to my imagination smells like coconut oil, your petals - the resounding aroma of lemon.

Your petals are dark and stubborn like the African hair.

Your height humble  giving you the very affectionate stature.

Your shape is nice curving from behind as though you were stretching your hands  reaching out to the rays of the sun sneaking into the catacombs.

Your presence is brilliant, you are the very beauty to behold.

Your love for the glare of the sun's light is so much that the sunshine could practically call out to you more than it does to any plant or even creature of Allah.

You are a loving goddess but one thing always lurks in my mind, how to take you home and make you mine.

How to plant you in my family.

I pray this black rose, handiwork of Allah, mirror of the sun wants me as much as I want her.

She's the Rose of Kermal Atatürk but I call her The Haj-ra because of her glowing relationship with the sun.

The End...