THE AGONY OF A RED ROSE

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“Why do people try to pluck me,

to cut me off from my mother, the plant?

Why do they snatch me

from my mother’s loving lap,

and tear me away from her

before I am ready to depart?

I am very sad,

I do not like to see

Human beings near me;

Their hands look gentle,

Yet they carry pain within them

for flowers like me.

I was born in my mother’s arms,

I bloomed beneath her tender care;

her leaves were my shelter,

her roots my silent prayer.

Why must beauty become a reason

for someone to cause despair?

Let me live where I belong,

Let me breathe upon my mother’s tree;

Let me bloom, let me dance with the breeze,

Let me remain wild and free.

Do not make my fragrance

A reason for killing me.”

Said the red rose to me.

I became very sad

to feel the agony of the beautiful red rose.

Its silent petals seemed to whisper

A truth deeper than words:

Every flower longs to live,

And every mother longs

to keep her child close.

I looked at the rose

And lowered my eyes

For in its trembling petals

I saw the tears of nature,

And in its broken silence

I heard humanity’s cries.

Anil Kumar Mishra, India