My Frozen Rose

It was the winter of suffering,  
As the frost clogged the hose,
It was not just the lucid water,
But even the sentiments froze.

Earlier autumn had fared no better,
Disease kept the mortals on their toes,
More were being lowered to rest,
While each bereaved masked his nose,

And the summer was equally harsh,
With everything being forced to close,
Hospitals and graveyards filled up fast,
While prisons received their regular dose.

And how was the promising spring ?
It would have brought hope, I suppose,
The tulips did bloom in the gardens,
But for the snaps, there was no one to pose.

And the previous year broke all records,
And rock bottom in history it goes,
The dwellers of the peaceful almond valley,
Were expertly hoodwinked by the foes.

The last three decades have been sinfully similar,
Terror perpetuated by the country of mangoes,
Absolute corrupted power wielded by tyrants,
But who is there to oppose ?

No one to hear the desperate pleas,
Your protests, poetry and prose,
All fall on the deaf ears,
As their saffron sun glows.

Every respite being nipped in the bud,  
Yet bravely staggering as the chilly wind blows,
As it dreams for the seasons of hope,
What chance is there for my frozen rose ?