By Aahna Jain
I am a piece of art.
-wrinkled at the edges
-paint splotched at the corners
-too dark at places
-and too bright for your eyes at others
I am a sunflower.
-wan shades of yellows
-little petals that lack poetry
-no scent to pull in
-found at every other corner
I am an old book.
-the cliché classic story
-a page lost from the time you loaned it
-many more stained and torn
-the cover plain,with the name in bold
You chase new paintings
with calculated strokes and lustre
but I remain expensive still.
-because the beauty in my flaws can not be found
in the beauty of their perfection.
You chase roses
with prickles that challenge you to come closer
I flourish still.
-because the sun smiles when I look at it
and the smile of the sun tickles the whole world
You chase the latest books
with the crinkly pages and the plot twists
I am remembered still.
-because my aura divine brings Shakespeare back every day
and reminisce the first time you read me.
Sorry if you think
I need a better artist-botanist-reader
to validate my beauty.
-because art still existed before artists came up
-because sunflowers still existed before botanists came up
-because stories still existed before readers came up