She's a beautiful flower;
one that blooms even in winter.
The coldness of the night
never bothered her.
On the contrary,
it gives her peace and solace.
But someone intrude her garden;
It was a man, no!
It's a heinous beast,
a monster!
His ruthless fingers traced
her petals and stem,
then drastically
plucked her from the ground.
His nostrils stole all
her fragrance
until her petals lost their hues.
When the man fed up,
he just threw her somewhere
in the dark
and let her melted the snow
into water.
YOU ARE READING
Burning Home
Poetry[ a poetry collection about grieving and becoming. ] I wish for the day when flowers no longer sink in water. When their eyes gaze not ignominy but proud; even dust can be seen as gold. And exhaustion feels rewarding.
