I wonder what to do in this worlddried rose
that makes me feel orphaned
even though my father is the lion of society.
Fear is my friend, love a secret I will not whisper.
“The walls have mice and mice have ears.”
The ground will pull me down if I walk outside.
And he will abandon me.
Even oxygen runs away like a horse.

I am like a dried flower
watered with tears every morning,
each drop burning my roots.
My petals are pruned by his cutting words,
cut from their stems and choked,
cinched by a silver feeta around my waist.

Now I am hidden away inside a man’s bedroom,
a dried flower between the pages of a diary.
I long to come out, hold the diary,
connect the words, match the broken puzzles.
I long to silence his roar, make him hear,
open my blossoms and feel the sun on my face.

Scatter my petals to the wind.
Speak words of beauty to a broken world.

By Farahnaz