Call it a flower

Or a bunch of petals

It will serve you

The way you want it to

From a bud to a blossom

It takes a beautiful process

As if a baby is blooming out of a womb

Without a cry

It grows on its own

quickly

With no safety, no protection

To live a day or two as its lifetime

Give it as a token of love

Or rest it on the dead

It will serve you

The way you want it to

Both in Love and fate

It takes a difficult process

To not react but be a passive soul

Without a flinch

It settles on its own

Slowly

With no advice, no succour

To only be a source of fragrance

Knit it into a garland

Or ripe it petal by petal

It will serve you

Despite after its own death

Both in worship and hate

It now takes nothing for the petals

Which no more resemble a flower

To dry in the humid air

A Source of Fragrance

a symbol of Romance

an epitome of divinity

Or other times

A mere object of decoration

Rarely though

It is left attached to its stem

nurturing from its roots

swaying merrily

with the wind

to be nothing but just a Rose

which has life of its own

So that it can serve you

The way it is meant to