* * *
It was a pleasant breezy night
The flower had begun to bloom.
Then, permeated with delight,
My heart had not sufficient room
To spot the tiny sprout of pride
Self-shaping in the thickening gloom.
How sad that firstly crowny forms
Turned out to be a wreath with thorns.
I have no clue to whom you're praying
That breezy and that pleasant night.
Your static lips were then conveying
What words can scarcely fit inside.
A lad, self-blinded and unwitty,
Was flying, tapping-petting petals
The sinful flower, cared and pretty
Grotesque, possessed and hauled as shackles –
It needed not these burdening leaves,
Like burning poisonous beliefs.
That time, how was I self-betraying,
Facts and reality despite,
Recalling back that pleasant night.
Your image has become decaying
To what I'm ready to collide.
The petals, blown away from stem,
Are lost forever in mayhem.
May 30, 2025