A rose is active in the storm,
Its smell is an unexplainable redolence
It thrives to flourish.

A rose will wither away
inside a crystal vase or on firm ground.
A liquid substance is necessary to live and to rise,
just like He rose.

I wish to know the first time you blushed.
I wish I were there to pick you up when you fell as a child for the first time, and leaves fell to the ground.
I wish I were there the moment petals where stripped away from your body.

I wish to see you speak with radiant tenderness.
Your words and syllabus pierced through doors,
doors that were permanently locked in the heart of stone.

Meanwhile, I am just an ovule wishing to respond in a corollary way that slowly grows in a dark world
but like you rose
I will rise.