A tender rose in the vase
soon forgets her Garden of Eden
blushed by her beholder's adulation
until he seizes by her stem
and thrashes on the floor
strewn with the petals
she now opts to flow with the wind
eyes bleeding, lips still twinned.
But the beholder not least complacent
picks them one by one and plunges
into the trash of indifference.
The rose, no longer whorl
knows not to read the riddle
yet the question lingers 'Why? '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem