‘Flower,’ the fairy spoke,

Words maddening her lifeless petals,

Sun, shying away from the intermittent blows,

When aversions stroke, emotions in a make-shift gun,

Hurting, deep down, beyond just a beating organ!!


‘Flower wake up,’ insisted the fairy,

Delicacy in the rhetoric of luxury,

Broken in a slumber where ignorance is a dream,

Words played around when the night kissed the moon,

Words played around when power rested upon emotion.


‘Flower, the troubadour awaits,’ the fairy sighed,

Butterflies leaving their wings at the altar,

Stretched and serrated, devoured by the Ravens,

In 1s and 2s and in groups,

A fanatic, a monster claiming the crown,

Queen!! Queen !! Queen!!

In multiples!!

‘World,’ the flower breathed,

Emotions betrayed and vanquished,

Presented to the aurora prince in a plate of power,

Dead, rotting and waiting to be discarded!!


And then the troubadour came,

To sing of the flower,

A tale of romance dying in the slang of power,

Inner strength keeps both of them alive,

Love is a power which knows how to live!!





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