When you see a dying flower,
Do you sigh and turn away?
Do you blame it for its own ruin,
For falling, for fading, for breaking?
Or do you wonder
Who crushed this little thing?
Once, it stood proud,
Reaching for the sun,
Drinking in the rain,
Alive, untouched, free.
Then came a hand,
Rough, unkind, ruthless..
It tore the flower from its roots,
Tossed it aside like it meant nothing.
No one asks why it withered,
Why its petals lost their color,
Why it no longer reached for the sky.
No one calls it weak or judges it when it cries.
And when a human breaks the same way,
The world points fingers,
And a passerby sees only the ruin,
Not the hand that plucked,
Not the force that shattered.
All they do is scoff
"You are broken because you chose to break."
But the flower never asked to be torn away.
And neither did they.
❤️🩹
©umclite
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