The flowers

In the meadow they glistened
The flowers, like glitter scattered
You stooped down to have your pick
They nestled into your arms

These budding flowers they smiled
As you put them in the shade

Silently they stood and curled
Their browning, weakened leaves
And when they tossed and fought
You shut the very last blind

You packed your bag one day
And said you were leaving
To pursue the evergreen
Plant you’ve seen on your screen

You didn’t look back at the
Greyish old boring flowers
Their petals have fallen
They have shrunk and shrivelled

But in your excited hurry
You have left the door ajar
Mighty storm raged outside
It bent the trees, uprooted flowers

As our withered flowered watched
A strong feeling grew inside them
Instead of getting bent
By the wind, they used its force
To lift their dishonoured heads
And instead of getting crushed
By the unrelenting rain
They yielded strength from its drops

And now the flowers stand
Quiet still, but with nursed wounds
Crowned with petals, robed in leaves
Waiting to be picked again