Catching the Wind
Days and nights, he spent running
To collect a Rose for his inner room
Nicely Roses smell, and gorgeous they are.
On the one he wanted to pick, he fell
At a peek, its sharp prickles stung him
Such repulsion, he kept inside his heart.
To another he found striking, he moved
But cos of worms, its petals had decayed;
And in his right hand, all faded hopelessly.
Twice, the selection has demotivated him
To no one the truth he could openly reveal
And desperately seek for a Lily or a Jacintha.
He loved Roses, but always failed to get them.
As it’s evening time, the sun is already setting.
No Rose he got, but had to return back home.
Poem by Mugisho N Theophile
Copyright © Mugisho Theophile | Year Posted 2018
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