Connoisseur of Art

 

In the eyes of the beholder, dried flowers are beautiful—

their colors muted,

Their edges curled like whispered secrets.

Fresh flowers shout for attention,

Bold in their blush,

Tempting every glance with fleeting sweetness.

The opportunists reach for them,

Hands quick to scratch, hearts unsteady,

Dazzled by perfume and flash.

But the connoisseurs linger—

they see the poetry in fading,

The strength in stems that have endured timestamps, storms and rhythms of life.

The wisdom written in petals turned bronze and gold.

They know that true beauty does not need applause,

That elegance grows with patience,

That composure is found in subtle decay.

While fresh blooms bow to the sun,

Dried flowers hold the moon,

Quietly sovereign,

Speaking only to those who can listen,

Revealing a taste refined,

A love that does not chase,

But understands.

The connoisseur knows the art of love, 

She doesn’t seek obedience. 

What she seeks is valuation in a dignified bounds.... 

She values what values her, 

Adores what adored her. 

Reciprocates the admiration she receives, 

The warmth of acceptance and surrender. 

You can surrender yourself completely into her... to her heart....

The doors of her heart is veiled sealed under a covenant that spark implicit love and desires.

She is an admirer of 

 the bouquet of dried flowers....!

Do you understand what her heart desires?!


©® Farheen Akter Bhuian (Nancy)

Time Frame: 11 am, Tagar, MIST

07 april, 2026

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