“Why do people try to pluck me,
to cut me off from my mother, the plant?
Why do they snatch me
from my mother’s loving lap,
and tear me away from her
before I am ready to depart?
I am very sad,
I do not like to see
Human beings near me;
Their hands look gentle,
Yet they carry pain within them
for flowers like me.
I was born in my mother’s arms,
I bloomed beneath her tender care;
her leaves were my shelter,
her roots my silent prayer.
Why must beauty become a reason
for someone to cause despair?
Let me live where I belong,
Let me breathe upon my mother’s tree;
Let me bloom, let me dance with the breeze,
Let me remain wild and free.
Do not make my fragrance
A reason for killing me.”
Said the red rose to me.
I became very sad
to feel the agony of the beautiful red rose.
Its silent petals seemed to whisper
A truth deeper than words:
Every flower longs to live,
And every mother longs
to keep her child close.
I looked at the rose
And lowered my eyes
For in its trembling petals
I saw the tears of nature,
And in its broken silence
I heard humanity’s cries.
