by Neesa Suncheuri

Flowers are rooted in
The soils of Patience,
A surrounding, omnipresent? Force
Ever-waiting to see its children
GROW.

To plant seeds
Is to let embryos live.
They hatch, their desire to grow is
Pale-hued and innocent,
Baby’s first steps as sprouts
Push through above the soil,
Having no idea of what
It will become, but is instead simply
Engulfed in slow moments
Of Youth, this process
Of maturation.

The threat of treading feet
Always remains, selfish desires
Burn the virgin landscape of
Green, developed seeds.
Human prayers for territory destroy
Mother Earth’s children,
Succumbing to the Impulses of
Rule, Govern and Majesty

A flower is unfortunate if it wilts in the soil,
But is lucky if prematurely plucked for decoration.
It serves no other purpose than to please a woman for sex,
Fragrance a euphemism for true love,
Yet petals wrinkle as a too woman’s skin,
Discarded when ugly, yet still alive,
Only offered to trash as a
Burial ceremony.  All that is remembered
Is they were Red for Valentine’s Day,
Or maybe perhaps pink for some
Breast cancer awareness event.

Do flora have hearts?

They do not.

So how can fauna understand anything we feel?

They do not.

But perhaps we can let them grow,

For they are the artistic creation of Mother Earth.

Neesa Suncheuri works as a mental health peer specialist at a housing agency in Queens, New York.  She is the founder of a Facebook discussion group for peer specialists and other recovery enthusiasts, entitled “What is Wellness?  A Mental Health Discussion Group.”  Much of her creative inspiration is rooted in her now-tamed schizophrenia.  She is a singer/songwriter, and performs in various venues in the city.  She writes poetry, maintains a blog and is currently working on a memoir.  Follow her on Twitter at @aquariumspeaks.