No, I don't want to be a tender flower,
Bright colours, fought for by honeybees
Who are dying to kiss the taste of my lips.
I don't want to be taken care by an old gardener
As if I'm gold, static and dead
Which will spew fragrance every day.
I don't want to be enclosed within walls,
Away from the feet of children,
From the tender fingers of a mother
Who wants to adorn her daughter's hair,
From the tired limbs of a man
Who wants to breathe in my essence to ease himself.
I don't want to be away from life to live.
So let be a wildflower, growing at places
People can't dictate.
Let me breathe in crisp air
And breathe out life.
Let me lie in my mother's lap,
Don't let me marry to a gardener
Who doesn't know my soul carries prayers and strength.
Let me be a wildflower, wild and free.
Author's note:
This poem is about a flower, planted within the boundary walls of a posh house, taken care by a gardener, away from its home, its habitat. It's about me, you and so many of us who feel trapped under the suffocating layers of life. It's a prayer, a poem to all those who should be free, who deserve to be a wildflower.
Okay, interesting story! :D I wrote this poem long back. I hated this poem at that time, so I didn't publish it. Going through my drafts today, I found this. And I LOVED IT! XD SO HERE IT IS! I hope you liked this as well. :') Do let me know your views. They're precious.
I am terrible at naming chapters. So, let's start an activity over here! Comment in-line whatever title you think will best suit this poem. Best title will be made the title of the poem and the user gets a mention :) #PutOnYourThinkingCap