The Flower

By Mahathi Vinodkrishna

A meadow, a field,

the entrance is sealed.

He steps in quietly,

in the dead of the night.

Fields and fields of beautiful flowers,

over a single daisy, he cowers.

"You're pretty", he smiles. "Can I take you home?"

A voice so sweet, a heart made of stone.

"What beauty you resemble,

I've seen your petals before.

If only I could remove them,

Wait, I'll close the door.

"Pluck me, pluck me", you're screaming

"Set me, set me free"

"The beauty you emit,

shouldn't they live on with your seeds?

"I'll do anything for you,

just take me, take me home."

The man, smiling on his own,

hands on the flower, they roam.

Smiling and smiling more,

he left it where he played.

The flower should've followed, but instead it stayed.

Smiling at another flower,

in its ear, he whispered.

He didn't look back, and the flower soon withered.

The once beautiful flower,

The flower another would stalk.

It took so long for the world to realize that

flowers couldn't talk.

By Mahathi Vinodkrishna