Feelings Of A Rose

I cry,

As those who love me,

They pluck me

And those who hate me,

They turn their backs on me,

I sit here waiting for some to pass by smiling,

Or to talk tales of life to me,

Or may be cuss me with words to release the anger that reside inside,

May be I await silence to accompany the silent ones,

May be my scent,

Works as an ointment to some,

May be I am a mood,

May be I create a vibe,

Alas, at the end!

For whatsoever, I still have to die.

Be it to make someone's day special,

Or to wobble when its wind waving 'Hi!'

Regardless of everything I die,

And picturing this happening with every other rose around makes me cry,

Thus I cry,

I cry.