This Didn't Work

I stumbled upon this poem I made last April. Thank God it can now only make me laugh, to think that I was crying my eyes all out when I was writing this. For some of its flaws, now you know... Depression-induced kasi, haha. And why did I write this? Oh you('ll) know why.


A BOY AND A ROSE 04202006


Once a boy was attracted
To a rose being sold in the market.
Its big petals were flushing
Above a stem long and slender,
With leaves green and dewy.
Thrilled, he reached for his pockets
Got some coins
And immediately bought it.
On the way home,
He did nothing
But gazed at the rose's beauty.
He jumped from
One sidewalk to the next
With the rose in his hands
That delicately held it.
Alongside was a road
Full of traffic jam and smoke,
Cars honking, people bustling.
But the boy couldn't have noticed
For the rose was enough
To delight him,
To keep him prancing,
even dancing,
Until he reaches home…
Even if it seemed far away ahead.
After hours that just felt like minutes,
He's finally at his doorstep
And hurriedly opened the hatch
So to welcome the rose in its new home.
The room quite appeared to be messy,
Some papers scattered here and there,
Some toppled furniture on the floor.
But as the boy placed the rose
In a vase on the window sill,
As if by magic, finally,
The room seemed to have shone its beauty.
The attractive sight of the rose
Drove him
To gather all the laying muddle,
To throw all the papers to the bin,
And to put back all the furniture where it belonged.
Day by day, he made sure
That enough sunlight reaches the rose,
And enough water was fed to it.
He made sure its petals remain flushing,
Its stem still long and slender
With leaves green and dewy.
However, other errands have to be attended to
And there were times that he missed
To look after his beloved rose,
Waiting by the window sill.
Eventually, he just noticed
The rose's beauty fading…
Its petals slowly turning into black,
Its stem becoming weak
With some of its leaves already flaking.
Now every time he sees it,
Disappointment fills his eyes
And every time he walks towards it,
A heavy heart causes him to sigh.
Staring at it closely,
He would often ask himself:
What could I have done wrong
For my rose to wither?
What else could I haven't done
For my rose not to stay all flourished?
He would then hold it so tightly,
His fists clenched all around its stem
Its sharp thorns already piercing his hands
As its petals are also falling.
Not knowing how to stop the bleeding
And the stinging pain the thorns bring,
The boy all exasperated
Took the rusty scissors close by…
One by one he cut it off;
One by one he loathed it all.
He then took the vase with the thornless rose in it
Out to the patio so he couldn't see it
Anymore as he enters the house,
For it has no use
But to inject scorn
To the boy who did everything to make it live.
Assuming without its thorns
The rose would just die,
The boy left it there
Out in the patio
Under the pale blue sky.
He went back inside
To get a bandage for his wounds
So that blood would stop from pouring
And probably tears would also stop from falling.
Never did the boy tried
To peek out the window
And check on the rose
That's why he didn't see
Nature's beauty having transpired.
With enough sunlight
Reaching unto it easily,
With enough rainwater
Sprinkling from time to time,
And with the cool gentle breeze
Caressing its frail body,
The rose, once again,
Have stretched longer into a beauty.
It seemed to be more dynamic
As sometimes, it even dances with the wind.
Some people would even pass by
And get astounded by what they see,
But the rose only waited
For the boy
Because for sure,
When he sees the rose,
Now longer and with its petals bigger,
He'd be in glee.
At one point the rose became still
And became tired of the usual faces
And the usual compliments it hears.
Where is the boy?, it wondered
Only he can make me spring.
Only he knows the right words to say,
Only he knows the right stroke my body wants to feel,
Only he knows the right way to kiss my tender petals when I'm asleep.
Inside his house it was hard to live,
But out here in the patio,
I have the wind.
But the wind is nothing
If his breath is gone;
The wind is nothing
If our memories have flown with it.
I hear him weeping from time to time,
Maybe he still blames himself
For what had happened to me.
But if he could just try to come and see,
I'll sway and welcome him gladly.
And if he can't believe what he sees,
I'll ask my friend, the wind, to softly blow these in his ears:

Without my thorns, I can live,
But without you, there is no meaning to it.



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haha, yeah right.