I always aimed to be a potted flower
I envied their supplies
From waters carried by muscles
To the manure bought to feed
Talk less of their pampering of shades and aids
And their protection and attention
They were like the dream
Which emptied me from their cans of dark bliss
Onto scolding thorns with sharp blades
Were their possessions curses?
Were their bliss phantoms?
Were their feeds poisoned with complacency and failures?
How far has time travelled
To have my envy burned into pity?
How much has the world changed
To have a flower in the wild
Live to the chorus of ovation
While potted flowers sqirm on bended knees?
How strong were their benefactors
To have their fates destroyed by perfect handling?
Why do I bless the bird who spat me
Into the thorny desert
While they curse those who pampered them on beds?
Life is two way microscope
Watchers turn watched in split breaths
Funny how heroes turn villains
And are thrown out of their star parade
Forget-me-nots must thread cautiously
On bruised weeds
For time may plant its flowers between them
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) February 24, 2017