#1 The making of a thorn

She was fragile enough,
To let her petals bleed.
A mindless little rose,
In a desert of thirsty travellers.

They stripped her of her color,
Shattered her roots to the core.
Myriad of travellers came by,
But none stayed by her side.

Her tenderness dissolved in thin air,
As her leaves began falling.
In place of a vibrant rose,
Life birthed a merciless thorn.

Not a stranger went by,
Who could deny her charms.
Nor could they resist the pain,
She’d inflict upon them.

Every man pricked his finger,
There was no mere escape.
The sight of blood trickling,
Had her immensely satisfied.

-Nameera.

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