The Rose

I am the rose, supposed to bloom in a glossy jar

You can hear my cry, from the far.

How am I supposed to bloom, when I am sealed?

How could you not see, when I ain’t able to conceal?

They say they love me yet imprison my soul

How could loving be so cruel?

They hail my beauty yet strangle my right

I live thousand deaths making their life bright.

I am the rose that will never raise

Yet they will admire and praise.

The red and the most beautiful in a garden

They say but I say, red as I bleed with a burden.