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In a field of red roses by the lake,
A white rose calls up to the sun
With her beautiful petal scarf
And her cheerful smile
Over another field, a tulip stands sad
He is one in the crowd, no one special
“Smart,” some say, “too shy” others may
But he struggles, moving his cheek

The tulip looks at the ethereal rose every day
Wondering how such a flower grew from the floor
An angel’s tears of joy, he might think
A kiss from Gaia, he would have hoped

Tulip doesn’t know much of the rose
And fears never being able to embrace her
He feels that both have too much in common
But his inner parasites would hurt her
For a majestic rose that dances with the moon in the water
Such normal tulip will never have a chance
Her perfect stem is made of silk
His is damaged and made of paper

Still, the tulip dreams
Wishing one day to fly, as his roots would rip
Detaching from the floor, from his forlorn life
Flying towards the star reflected in the lake, where his solitude would end

The white rose doesn’t realize, still
How much he admires her strength, cleverness, and beauty
Until the tulip sends his seeds of love
In the form of this poem and painting

For a more radiant future he fights
Forever aligned with the Astraea of his heart
Because she glows in the night
Inspiring him to be better
And even if the rose doesn’t recognize the tulip
She should know that he is right there
In an everyday battle to talk to her
He is smart and shy, but eager to give all his petals to see her smiling for him
The motif of flowers is key to the second chapter. We know Rose already, so Tulip is the next character the anthology introduces.
annh Sep 2020
Pale-faced beneath twilight’s awning, shadowed time skips
A beat measured in dust motes and attic silence;

Frameless ether holds its breath and portrait likenesses
Swivel eyes right, suspended between the minute and the hour;

In sequence, Whittington’s chiming sepia tones wring out
A tulip of port and one last cigar from drapery long hung;

As floral meanders unwind from a walnut casing
Inlayed with the gamine whimsies of our cherried youth.

‘At the beginning of time the clock struck one
Then dropped the dew and the clock struck two
From the dew grew a tree and the clock struck three
The tree made a door and the clock struck four
Man came alive and the clock struck five
Count not, waste not the years on the clock
Behold I stand at the door and knock.‘
- Eric Lomax
Gunnika Mehra Jun 2020
I am a flower
all of you must know?
Not really famous you see,
the rose stole that place.
Am I not a flower with beauty ?
Rose comes with thorns I come sin free .
Then why am I not used by lovers to express their glee?
Lately as I grew in the meadow,
all my followers questioned me .
They say they made me leader,
to defeat roses ,our worst enemy.
I tried so hard to make them believe
that we can live together through our friend ,humanity.
But they were all against it
and trampled me on the ground.
Like 'The Patriot' the years of hard work drowned.
I was their leader
I wanted to stand for the right .
and my friend 'the rose'
helped me sitting by my bedside.
We were both of the same ideals
both of us were thrown out.
Well now we tended to each other
as our days whisked by.
The devil flowed into their petals
we can't do a thing .
but I wish we could
I wish the roses and tulips could be friends
till time's end.
Gunnika mehra
(THE FOLLOWING POEM IS A METAPHOR FOR HUMAN BEINGS SUBSTITUTED BY FLOWERS. THE POEM CAN BE TAKEN AS AN EXAMPLE TO PUT OUR JEALOUSIES ASIDE AND TRY LIVING TOGETHER IN PEACE . IT CAN BE TAKEN AS A MILD MOCKERY AGAINST THE LEADERS IN GENERAL ,WHO FAIL TO UNDERSTAND THE IMPORTANCE OF STANDING FOR THE RIGHT.)
Mrs Timetable May 2020
Why plant
A fragile heart
In the wrong place
Setting it up
To suffocate
Like a tulip
In a xeriscape
BLT word of the day “xeriscape”
Nidhi Mar 2020
She was a vibrant rose
And he was a  beautiful tulip

but the rose had thorns
piercing deeply into my skin
Her words and actions broke me to pieces

while the blood gushed
the tulip wrapped his arms
healing the wound from a waterfall of blood

both were beautiful but one was deadly
Tulip blooms, she smiles
The pebbles cemented into the sidewalk
And why didn't we notice it earlier

Tulip blooms, he smiles
Piles of tulips in deep lilac

His sentiment to her.
His private messages delivered to her heart 
Thank the tulips for all they do.

Tulips blooms, she smiles
When these fragrances reminded her
Tulip blooms, he smiles
Leaning on his solo path.

Spring is here.
A symbol in the journey they take
a petal for each milestone

Tulip blooms, she smiles.
Tulip blooms, he smiles
A swap role in each chapter they make

Who is trying to save them,
really, who is it? If Tulips were fragile,
like them too?
By Angel.XJ 29/01/2020
Sudipta Maity Sep 2019
I put my fingure on you profile bar
to see you clear and have you more closer.
That the only thing every time I do.
Because,
yesterday's tulip still in the garden.

When the account blink online
I press my side button
and go for a sleep.
It's now a Enstine relativity,
that you are busy
with someone's chat or in my dream.


It's almost full -
text in form of draft.
Unspoken word with immature love.
I wish to format my brain
with full of your picture and smile.
But the backup is store in my heart
Not in my pendrive.
You have me in your contact list
I have tag you in my all poem.
I am waiting for a morning to pickup
that yesterday's tulip still in garden.
When we connect to our loving one by only social media
Cox Jul 2019
Slowly I'll become that flower you loved,
A sunflower, a rose, a tulip bud.

I'll twist, I'll turn, I'll wilt, I'll forever be this guilt.

Slowly I'll be there, and slowly will I twist and fall in,
Throwing myself into the ocean where I can begin.

So shallow, so empty,
Is this all that there is left?

Slowly, slowly I'll be that flower.

Slowly I'll be the one in power.

Slowly I'll find a place where I can open my petals with grace,
Slowly I'll live once again.

Cautiously you will find me on the clifftop,
This time I'll be smiling.

This time I'll no longer wilt,
I'll be tall and strong emptying myself of that guilt.

This time the sun will bless me with all of it's hymn,
and turn your gun.
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