It stood with effulgence
Wrapped in a red robe
With petals showing the different shades of its life
Its prepotency was like an illusion
Gregarious yet so stoic

Its beauty was such that the sun rose early to shower gold on it
Darkness waited to put its warm blanket over the sleeping bliss
But it still looked immured which disturbed me a lot
So finally I decided to ask

“So supernal is your love and you know you are loved
as well, then what is it beauty that you are scared to go ahead? ”

It replied as if revealing its benison
“I am born, born with a curse”
“Beauty is what, what you can see but you are unaware, unaware of the thorn which can prick thee”