The story behind the poem.
There was a child. A girl. Her father had died shortly after her birth. She lived with her widowed mother, a poor woman. Unlike other children, the girl has to divide her time between studying and working hard to help her mother. She fights ... a tough fight... but she faces it with a smile. And she was my flower, which I write here.
My flower...
Look at this rough face
Look at this stubborn guy
Take a look ...
Look at this crazy challenger
Look at this brutal fighter
Take a look ...
He has confessed his defeat in front of your charms
His pride was falling like an eagle plucked out
He cries more than the children of your age
He becomes dust where you stand upright
Hauntingly elegant. I love the juxtaposition of 'children of your age' and 'becomes dust.'
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there is no perfect man in this world. only God is perfect. we humans keep on trying to get better.
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Seeing the flowers always spoil me. Thanks @keuudeip😍
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