The white flower,
single and pure,
swaying, as if laughing,
fresh and shining,
from the morning dew,
dancing in the breeze,
gaiety at its peak,
like a baby in his cradle,
innocent, unknown to vice,
the pureness of his soul,
is blossomed like the flower's,
but both will stop swaying,
when the breeze turns to dust,
of betrayal, of vice,
of the unkind society,
and its torments,
the cruelties,
the lies and the deceit;
the soul that was pure,
honest and unstained;
the white flower is no more,
pure; but yellowed,
withered by the unkind wind,
tarnished by the evils,
it sways no more,
but droops slowly,
and the petals wear away,
with each gust of intolerance,
until the delicacy is worn out,
and just the stalk is left,
rough and naked,
its beauty and purity gone,
and head bowed in shame,
willing to break away from the branch,
that still connects it to life,
to a mere sorry existence,
so when the next gust comes,
it blows away silently,
gladly; to be rid of the misery,
of standing alone; pure,
in the midst of such impurity!
Mehreen Tahir
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-white-flower/
