Rose

I always wanted to live like a rose,
blooming a day and dying by night,
wasting hours in choosing a pose,
mistaking sun to be my spotlight.

As I grew up, a new dream was born,
One to be unfeigned by time's stride,
better hurt than suffer like a thorn,
mistaking my ego to be my pride.

Later I fell for the peace of the root,
helping the roses and thorns grow,
desiring fruit at the tip of my shoot,
ignorant that every winter must go.

Then I saw in me an entire roseplant,
the nature's flow controlling my life,
Oh how many poems would I just rant,
oblivious and forlorn in this strife.

But for now, I wouldn't ask who or why
is science, read 'nature has its own way',
I got wings, tell me why shouldn't I fly,
ignorant of reasons to float and sway.