Home » Poetry » The flower in the glass

The flower in the glass


Trimmed to perfection, she stood on the crystal glass,
Letting herself be the subject of the night,
Discarding the plight of her peers – the wild flowers outside,
As each passer-by bowed in respect,
Acknowledging her beauty, her presence,

They had at first lamented that she looked ill,
But she was chosen from the rest,
And fed, pampered,
Impeccably toned,
And today she stood, and one could not overlook her arrogance,

Upon demand,
She was lifted, gently


The crystal lay shattered on the floor,
She watched, baffled, as large hands picked up the remains of her shield,
Her tears, mixed with the water on the floor, were quickly mopped away,
Her body pained as hurrying feet stepped on her,
She screamed as the weight of the heavy bore down on her,
But none heard her,

She lay there
Unheard, unsought,
As the party continued into the night,

When all was wasted and the men had left,
She glanced at her peers outside,
Now asleep in the dim light,
Seemingly free, happy,

Would they notice her absence?




  1. Chamindra Warusawitharane says:


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