Her story

I twisted it off its stem,

careful not to prick myself on its thorn

 

I took it and placed it in a vase,

to be a hymn of beauty, a song of love

 

when all around the shocks and bangs

can come so close to my door

 

so close to the fabric of my space,

my home

 

when all around the world reaps its own reaping, focused

on the delivery of pain

 

I felt the 'sin' and harboured it,

 

I felt its plea for rain, its wish

to glisten in the sun, in the drops of dawn,

 

but I needed it