They say women are like flowers
delicate and beautiful, cheery and colorful.
Put them in a vase and care for them daily
And they will make everything look better
with their aura. You'll fall in love.
Believe me.

But
She was not a flower from the gardens
She was more like a wildflower growing between
the cracks of a rock. Almost like rebelling against
the nature's rule.
She was alluring in her own ways yet no one
would ever dare to pluck her.

No one could ever love a wildflower in front of a rose
But
No rose could ever be free like a young fiery soul.

Some people are not poets
They are poetry themselves

Some people are not authors
They are books themselves

Some people are not singers
They are songs themselves

Some people are not beautiful
They are beauty themselves

Some people are not modest
They are modesty themselves

And

They all exist in this world
But they don't  recognize themselves

Find solace in solitude,
There is no shame in that.
We are unknown to ourselves
An ocean to which we delve.
Scarcely coming up for air,
Entangled in fathoms
Whirlpools of despair.
Waves of introspection
Spare us shallow reefs,
Yet cast us into darkness
And the horrors of the deep.

And as I mixed the colours,
Blending each of their hues,
I realised that not a single shade,
Could paint the mind belonging to you.