In Solitude

Solitary, she sits on the green delicate bed,
Decorated with the Garland of roses,
That peeps from behind,
The thorns of which often disturb,
Yet, she turns her back to say :
I'm stronger than that.

The lake beside stayed calm,
Until,
She touched it with her palm,
The turmoil within,
Stole the silence of the gentle,
She questioned:
"Am I the wrong?"

Her heart desired,
Desired to touch,
The magnificent yellow dalia,
But her hands shivered,
Fearing it's end.

She walked down the lane,
Holding the rose that she saved,
Which laid burried in the heavy muddy puddle,
She feared:
Her touch might wither it soon,
Crumble it to pieces,
Then to nothingness,
Leaving her vacuumed,
Once again.

The haziness around,
Increased,
The voices louder than her confidence,
But yet the Sun teaches her to keep shinning,
The ocean teaches her to keep flowing,
The trees teaches her to keep growing,
The moon teaches her to share her light,
Even in the darkest.