By Hawra’a Ali
A gathering of roses sat in the garden
Patiently awaiting their death
Crying dew behind their petal curtain
Sighing into the air with their lovely perfumed breath
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It is known that love is built on sacrifice
It is a lesson taught to everyone since childhood
The Rose, the teacher that will pay the price
That teaches the lesson only years later understood
–
Pick that lovely flower, it is yours to take
Make it forget its roots, tear it from its home
Ask it, what is love? Give it a little shake
And then through its soft petals let your fingers comb
–
It will tell you, with every bleeding red petal to the ground:
it is very easy to define love when we are young
But we forget that what goes around comes around
–
We only ask it, loves me, loves me not, pain and petals flung
We tore that Rose apart with almost vindictive pleasure
Perhaps it gave us a sense of control
To slowly tear off the petals with leisure
–
–
It didn’t matter how much we bruised the Rose’s soul
All that mattered is that we got our answer
We laughed with joy at loves me and groaned in despair at loves me not
We expressed many emotions, joy, fear, excitement and anger
We didn’t give the rose a second thought
–
We then skipped away, leaving the birds to hold a funeral for the corpse
Little did we realize that the now broken Rose is love
If we did, would we have shattered it? Who knows
Certainly not the mourning white dove
–
Years later we realize, it doesn’t matter if it is loves me or not,
The correct answer is that we mutilated life, to give it a meaning of our own
The true lesson that the Rose has valiantly taught
Is that love would blossom and bloom when left alone
–
We never stopped to think, that we happily clutched a petal
When we could have had a whole
We didn’t give the rose a second thoughtWe then skipped away, leaving the birds to hold a funeral for the corpse
Hawra’a Ali is a 21-year-old Kuwaiti student and a lover of literature.
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