Magnolia

karnika chauhan

Dreams, like the flower of summer,
So beautiful and eccentric,
Speaking up with their separate scent,
Quite large, not easy to miss.
Dreams, like the flower of summer,
existed even before bees and the butterflies,
gracing our minds, since the dawn of time,
tirelessly adapting, to survive.

Often glanced by the passers-by,
to catch a brief glimpse of beauty,
While Others would make a gibe,
“too Big and bright!”.
Unturned by opinions and emotions,
blooming and blossoming,
seems indifferent,
to the test of time.

In the garden of the soul,
I wary of the magnolia,
despite the serene landscape,
when deprived,
like a closed fist,
would curl leaves inside.

Dreams, like the flower of summer,
Die a slow death,
When scared is our state of mind,
choosing to walk unhappy,
leaving behind our desire to fly,
Years and years of frustration,
Over time.
Until we learn,
Learn to curl inside,
Curl ourselves from breathing,
to survive.

Envious are my dreams,
of the flower of summer,
which chooses to grow on trees,
not vines, bushing or twigs.
Indifferent and aloof,
for those who could not see
If Proud like the flower of summer,
beautiful and eccentric my dreams could be.