He had a soft spot for that flower.
Its colour and aroma were spread
from the dream to the heart
and from the heart to the breath.
The flower became his colour and smell,
and then, he himself.
The hands that gave her water and fertilizer
caught his legs.
Speechless and motionless,
He coul not move.
Tears fell like
scorching molten lava
on his feet.
He sobbed to the flower,
"Although you are my life,
you owe more gratitude to the people
who gave you life than I do to them".
When he returns, having torn the roots
of desires from his heart,
he understood that it was those roots
that penetrated deep into his soul.
Dear flower, those roots deep in his soul
may remain invisible
until his death to spread like a tree
over his grave...
Poem
by Jafar Sadik
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