When I sought to pluck the rose …

red-rose

It bloomed to be an exquisite rose: pulchritude streaming from its
ruby-red petals. And rubies were they, gleamed as they did in the
tepid sunlight. It was truly a divine sight, with sunshine filtering
through its dainty leaves and reflecting its rosy beauty to the
optima.

Ah! A sigh escaped my lips as I gazed at it – and who wouldn’t stare
at it? With its gullible show, mesmerizing beauty and breath-taking
fragility … who wouldn’t?

I bent and sniffed its fragrance: the nifty fragrance seeping through
my nostrils, frenzied my nasal senses and I leaned forward to pluck
it.

However, in midair, I checked myself.

Why yank the poor thing? How could even one think of tweaking
something so beautiful?

I trod a few steps back bashfully and set upon watching it again:
absorbing its beauty and, not curtailing it.

Because I understood beauty is to be preserved, and not impaired.

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2 thoughts on “When I sought to pluck the rose …

  1. Hira says:

    Why yank the poor thing? How could even one think of tweaking
    something so beautiful?

    there are those who will still do it. but i guess dats wat sets ppl different.
    kinda sad dat wen 1 saves the beauty for another to marvel upon another dznt comprehend evn a tenth of dat feelling and selfishly takes that besuty 4 themselves widout realizn dat dis way they beauty with withey away.

    really liked it.

  2. Anas Shafqat says:

    Thanks =]

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