A Curse or a Boon?

The delicate lustre of its petals,
The sweet smell in the air,
The dazzling colours of beauty,
The flower is in full bloom.

The bees swarm around,
Butterflies flutter their wings,
The sweet aroma of attraction
Flatters the flower too soon.

Night approaches by,
Wrinkles appear on its skin,
It has aged its while,
It has now lost its bloom.

A bud next to it,
One so young in life,
Doesn’t grasp the purpose.
Does not realize their doom.

It murmurs a gentle prayer,
‘May thou wither in peace’,
‘For it is now time,
For me to see the noon.’

‘O Little one,
Do not bask in this glory,
For our beauty is a curse
As much it is a boon.’

‘We flatter ourselves
When our petals wide open,
For we only cherish
A single noon.’

O Mighty Creator,
Whoever thou art,
What is thine purpose
For cursing us thus?
To see but a day
And perish the next.
A taste of freedom
With an eternity in our tomb.

The Final Retribution!

A dark swathe obscures the life,
It is but a disguise of what’s to occur.
Perception of the events to follow become clear,
Yet, the mind becomes a blur.
Reminiscence of everything leading up to that moment
Flashes past in quick succession.
It is the void that fills up after,
When one can be au fait with the realization.

What is life, but a parody?
A stage set for existence.
The audience is its maker,
Who gives neither ovation nor an appearance.
The true nature of life one knows not.
Nor is it clear what is in store.
One lives to die; a verity.
But can one die to live anymore?

The realm, an enigma, one knows not what it holds,
The trepidation itself is its strongest grasp.
The key to this corporeal obliteration
Lies in the life for one to clasp.
Recompense sought all the way through.
Such is the raison d'être for termination.
The exploits trailed and bequeathed in existence,
C’est le Créateur’s final retribution!