Crying Skies, Rain And Discarded Memories

when the sunflower met the rose

When the sunflower met the rose,

She asked rose why she was so popular,

And she on the other end was not.

Rose waited for a while,

Then she sighed and then smiled,

And replied,

It's all a lie.

You all love me but while love for some is a dream,

For some its just whistful thinking.

And for the rest its something in between.

A temptation or a form of redemption,

Sometimes full of accusations and lies,

And you ask me why I am so popular,

I am because so is sin.

And people try to wash away months of crimes,

All at one time,

By using dozens of my kind.

As gifts to the ones the betrayed and to themselves as consolation,

And if that's the reason for my popularity,

I would rather pick isolation.

I am a symbol of love and a symbol of broken trust,

I represent broken hearts and sometimes pure lust,

I am popular but at what price?

But don't get me wrong love isn’t no virtue and all vice,

It's sweet and tender,

And deep and gentle.

And serene like the morning breeze, when there's no one for company but empty streets.

Sunflower tilted her head,

She smiled softly and she said,

But what about me?

What do they see in you that they don't see in me?

Rose shook her head,

then spoke,

You are beauty and grace and so pure my friend,

That you won't be tainted by this dirty game.

Where the winners reap and losers sow,

And this game is more than flowers and bows,

When you bloom my dear in rows and rows,

Your aesthetic beauty often leaves me broke.

You are more than a representative of whatever you dream of,

But you represent people who don't have representatives.

Who think they are nothing more than a second choice,

And you help them find in you, their inner voice.

And you are me are both alike,

We're both flowers and although of different colours,

We are still the same,

We're yellow and red,

And we represent people,

Who need representation.

And through generations,

We have been different.

But everyone knows us as flowers,

I may be pretty,

But you're funny.

People spend hours walking in meadows where you bloom,

And on me people just spend money.

There is no replacement for dedication,

And I am just a mere representation,

of that.