A stubborn seed
hid below the soil,
beneath layers and layers
of prejudice and bitterness.
She feared for her life
and ultimately decided
to live and die
in the darkness of her shelter.
She had grown too fond
of the safe stagnancy
that she lost count of the days
as they turned into years.
Suddenly she heard knocking,
tickling the surface of the soil;
she danced to the beat
and laughed for the first time.
But she remembered
that happiness is always
the prelude to pain
so she rebuilt her walls.
Still, the tapping went on,
and relentlessly seeping
through her earthen armor
were droplets of rain.
Rain, unlike her,
was outgoing and brash;
the world was his,
and he knew it.
She found him different,
despite having no point
of comparison whatsoever
and her resistances wavered.
He made her conscious
of who she is now
and all that she could be
if she'd try.
But trying means
taking a chance,
and failure hurts a lot
so she hesitated.
The Rain assured her
that with him by his side
she had nothing to fear
and she believed him.
And true enough,
he helped her grow
until she blossomed
into a beautiful Rose.
She was admired by many
but all she thought about
was her beloved Rain,
and she waited for his arrival.
Soon enough, Rain fell
and she rejoiced
for then he could see
and adore the Rose she had become.
She thought herself special
amongst all other roses in the garden
but to her terror, she discovered
that the Rain fell on everyone equally.
He made her feel special;
she was not.
He made everyone feel special
which was a contradiction in terms.
The Rose cannot go back
to being a seed underground,
so she has to suffer
wanting a love she cannot have.
Now, I ask you this,
which is to blame:
the assumption of the Rose
or the nature of the Rain?
YOU ARE READING
How They Loved
PoetryI have never loved. I think I never will. But to understand it, I need to write about it. Like a detached astronaut on the moon observing the earth, the following pieces are my attempts to represent love in words through my observations of the exper...
