You don't pluck flowers
You don't pluck flowers that you like, You let them bloom, shine and thrive under the sunlight. But, one day, you thought of them to preserve, Since that day began their decay and destruction. The bloomed flowers in your vase aren't the blossomed ones, They are the cursed flowers whose doom was written by you, The soon to be forgotten ones. But, you refused their dismissal, So, you pluck them at their peak with buds, Thinking they would die anyways sooner or later. But, what you did was inhibiting their natural growth, You dimmed their potential- Their renewal. A flower nipped in the bud could not grow because of you, Oh, so aweful! The pricking soul flustered with possession. Now, the petals fall off- one by one, And, with each fall - It gives a reminder, Reminds of decay- Of great souls, Of spontaneous presence, Of pleasure of being seen, But, what's visible might not always be felt and understood! Reminds the omnipotent essence of beauty- That just...