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The Colour of Roses
Keston Jacob
Trinidad & Tobago - Biology

He walked along the wall,
Checking for names, forgetting the next.
In the blackness of its reflection
A gift of flowers whispered a forgotten name,
From a puddle of water; petals shaking in the wind.

Stopping he squatted and let his fingers touch the
Chiseled remains of a soldier and a son.
Stepping back, his fingers fumbled for his pockets.
He took a picture, then pencil and paper,
And took a negative of the name.

Under the polished black marble of 15E
A bouquet of flowers, laid by absent hands
Lies,
Whispering a prayer of remembrance
Through lips of red petals
And a puddle of tears.