The white flower, <br />single and pure, <br />swaying, as if laughing, <br />fresh and shining, <br />from the morning dew, <br />dancing in the breeze, <br />gaiety at its peak, <br />like a baby in his cradle, <br />innocent, unknown to vice, <br />the pureness of his soul, <br />is blossomed like the flower's, <br />but both will stop swaying, <br />when the breeze turns to dust, <br />of betrayal, of vice, <br />of the unkind society, <br />and its torments, <br />the cruelties, <br />the lies and the deceit; <br />the soul that was pure, <br />honest and unstained; <br />the white flower is no more, <br />pure; but yellowed, <br />withered by the unkind wind, <br />tarnished by the evils, <br />it sways no more, <br />but droops slowly, <br />and the petals wear away, <br />with each gust of intolerance, <br />until the delicacy is worn out, <br />and just the stalk is left, <br />rough and naked, <br />its beauty and purity gone, <br />and head bowed in shame, <br />willing to break away from the branch, <br />that still connects it to life, <br />to a mere sorry existence, <br />so when the next gust comes, <br />it blows away silently, <br />gladly; to be rid of the misery, <br />of standing alone; pure, <br />in the midst of such impurity!<br /><br />Mehreen Tahir<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-white-flower/
