Another day, another yay!
Mist of the morning ray,
Kissing the cheeks of my windowpane.
Fragile petals, delicate sepals,
A flower herein, whispering something through the early breeze.
Mr. Gardener,
I hope you won’t cut my bud, throw away even before my last petal fall off the ground.
Neither am I, a ‘Red rose,’ courageous enough to stand out amongst my fellows; nor a ‘White daisy,’ hopeful and innocent in luring the bees flying in the meadow.
My stems divulged great weakness, swelling leaves fading away like the sun hiding before a huge rain is about to reign. Ah! Neither am I a possessor of the mightiest thorns e’er that can cast any harm away nor have an ardour scent that will stay with you, forevermore. Beaut, I heard from the wanderers hushing from the direction of the sunflower yet I knew to myself that never will I own this word enough for them to show me off beside the shelves resting in a luxurious vase.
Fate patterned its way back to me. For once I’ve dreamt to be your flower but truth be told that either a wilted grass or a wild flower will never make it happen. “A great distraction to the landscape,” regarded by everyone. That understatement turned us to accept the reality that we grow only to be disregarded by the gardener.
But Mr. Gardener listen to my whispers,
Spare my life, allow me to enjoy the oozing savor of freedom and happiness. For once, help me experience the brightness of a summer morning, the hopeful breeze of the spring, the frost of the December night , and the kiss of cold raindrops. Show me the warmth of gardeners’ care to their plants as to what other flowers have seen. You may grin in dismay but your presence can be either a danger or a blessing in disguise. I may be in pain but you makes me bloom despite the storm and that is the finest fertilizer for my roots.
Another day, another yay!
Mist of the morning ray,
Kissing the cheeks of my windowpane.
Fragile petals, delicate sepals,
A flower herein, whispering something through the early breeze.
written by Picasso——
