Mercy On Roses. 


Roses smell nice while fresh
It doesn’t matter how nicely 

They were picked, chopped or broken

It’s smell might be awful

It all depends with who… 

Gives it, receives it and where. 


White roses, red roses both knows 

What pain is, where love flows

Tears shower them when they pleas

The word ‘please’ doesn’t shock them at least

For Valentine’s leads to their slaughter

Laughter and pleasure means sorrow. 


Graveyards is where they sulk

Sacrificing the beautiful roses

To wilt in the sun and peal in cold

As they mourn their loved ones

More and more of red roses are mowed

As long as love keeps man mourning. 


Most adorable of all flowers

The others would bow and thaw

For a choice it is and has ever been

To a human being since they had feelings

Involving the poor plant into their plans

Of togetherness and kisses pinching the red petals. 


In whatever colour we are

We rise as roses for peace

For centuries we haven’t seen any happiness

We love man as others do… but why choose us over them

We would love them to let us be plants 

As others and never have us in their plans. 

They always hurt us to please themselves. 


Photo courtesy of;.×2560.jpg 

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