She was born a rose,
With deep red cheeks and hair blonde as gold,
Companied by a smile so kind, it was said to heal your soul.
And this "rose" was held delicately in the hearts of those who met her,
As she was just a young girl, with a heart made of gold,
But this "rose" had thorns to protect her sweet heart,
Only to be picked, and used, and thrown, and stomped,
By the world who didn't care about her or her thoughts,
By a world that kept spinning, when she was hurting and lost,
So that "rose" used her thorns to keep people away,
And finally, finally, got things to go her way,
Till one day she was picked,
When a "bee" landed on her petal,
So she shook and fought and punched and kicked,
But that "bee" didn't sting her, at least not right away,
Instead he stuck around, day after day,
Till one day he got tired of that "rose,"
And she had thought things were going okay,
And then he left.
And she was back to square one.
Her thorns had grown dull and her petals had holes,
And she again, picked herself up,
Ready for the next one.
Until the last petal fell.

He loves me
He loves me not

The rose is dead
All the petals have been plucked

Careless with love
Just as with the rose
Its no surprise it whithered and died
It was picked
Plucked
Thrown to the ground

As for the rose tho....
Well you know how the story goes

He loves me
He loves me not

Wrap your spring
in the winter.
Only to unleash it
on the rose later.

I let you go,
like the waves rolling on the shore,
and a little boy who lost his footwear,
crying scared to go back to her mother
where he had lost the gifts.

I let you go,
like a couple of ashy Prinia birds
dancing among the bamboo branches
sing loudly in the breeding season, build nests and lay eggs,
but replaced by the eggs of cuckoos that grew and were cared for with love.

I let you go,
like cities that have long since died
the quiet and lonely
and people left
and no one ever came back to occupy.

I let you go,
like the paintings of pain
from wounds that bleed and lose
displayed at art exhibitions,
and everyone was amazed to see.

I let you go,
like a memory in a photo album
from loved ones first,
yellowed full of blotches of teardrops,
worn-out dusty and looks real.

I let you go,
like an angry poet
in front of half-finished poems
who have been lost for words for a long time
to be reassembled.

I let you go,
like falling rain,
and a boy running around looking for shelter
with wounds on his right hand
holding tightly to the thorny rose.

I let you go,
like a book
and sad stories
which has been left for a long time
after reading all night.

Once again,
I let you go,
as a most perfect poem,
that I have written,
from the remnants of memories in the head.

Where are you hiding?
You beautiful flower
I see flying bees runing in and out
So you must be around
Oh you little flower
i can smell you from here
but still can't find you

Where you are you hiding?
Left, right or might in the middle
Where in the garden to start
Gosh, i'm all shivering
This gets me excited to the neck
to step forward and have you

Stay there, don't go anywhere
Wait for me! Wait for me!
I'm so close

Oh, oh, oh! What's going there?
Shh! Quiet please
There is a sound coming
among the trees
I can hear my name
Is it you my honey?
There is a light waving
Is it you my shiny?
Let me see
Oh you little flower!
Yes, yes it is you!
I can finally see you!
I'm coming to have you

It's been for quite sometime
painting the shadows of black.
Far from the rose
glinting down the sun.
But now it seems I forgot that
the Moon blooms in pitch dark!

And where evil rests'
Lies their hands:
As lust appears in eyes'
They've all tasted it's flesh:
And what came of heart'
Twas the blood of Man' scars.

Under the first sun'
We've risen from dust;
From bone, woman to flesh
And what hung under fruit'
Twas the taste of it's sin.

In the open dry land'
Were two of one womb;
One of worship, other jealousy:
For when the latter grew'
Twas the stone that killed.

So man' sin continued on:

As for it's sake;
The Earth needed a piece of God'
For their sins to branch off;
His child placed on wooden Cross.

And so-
Heaven's fallen flower; Rose.

A man gets lost in a rose garden
A lady is there, take care of everything
As a bee that flies between the petals
As a butterfly that lands
As contested nectar
Flowers offer beauty
A man gets lost and doesn't come back
A lady will be taken away
The garden that was once beautiful
is now growing thick and wild,
even more beautiful than before
The nature takes care of what humans cannot care for or neglect
And the bees and butterflies rejoice

Heady is its scent
this here Bulgarian rose
Dazed men walk drowning