Where it was supposed to be,
It isn't.
Not in my heart, not on my sleeves
Not on my skin, not in my speech
Not here.
But here. Inside me:
A shy, scared, very scared bud
Its petals waiting, waiting since ever
But it won't dare open
For the fear of what has happened.
It doesn't want to be trampled
But does it know--?
Even to be trampled
You have first got to open.