Flowers with Roots
By: Thooyaa Gnanavel
This is a poem about the tradition of gifting fresh-cut flower bouquets. Severing a flower from its roots dooms it to wilt and die eventually, no matter how much you water or feed it. Why do we give dying flowers to people we care for and love? Why not potted flowers with their roots and life intact? Your roots define your identity and give you strength and worth. So, never cut yourself off from your beginnings, instead, use it to fuel your growth.
Seeds sprout and delve into the soil around,
Earth nurtures and grants the strength to grow.
Beings spring from the darkness and reach for the light,
Craving the fresh air and racing through the meadow.
But the more beautiful they become, the more the menace.
Flaunted, shackled, bound with a ribbon bow.
We cut their leaves and stems short,
Just to decorate our dull windows.
Why do we use death to show we care?
Intolerable hypocrisy, but sadly, that is how.
Every day we quench their voracious thirst.
Every effort is futile, and they wither now.
My heart aches as their petals kiss the ground.
I wished they would sustain somehow.
Not one thing can salvage their fate,
To droop and wilt and fade into the shadow.
Don’t present me with something so unfair.
Life and love should never be so unhallow.
I want the roots, the soil, the mess intact.
I could care less about what is furbelow.
I crave the scars, the veins, and the sweat.
To build a tower, strong as bones with marrow.
See them thrive and flourish, they offer comfort.
See them dancing with the wind even tomorrow.
Share their air, laced with honeyed scent.
Leave them be for the bees and the sparrows.
They have the power to extinct havoc.
Just wait until they bloom and their colors glow.
Never sever their roots from their heads.
Don't lose the spirit they radiate and bestow.
Although fragile, they're secure and balanced.
Think of all the gales they’ll endure and overthrow!
A flower absent of origin, is doomed.
Its potential and powers are merely callow.
A flower that unfolds with essence however,
Will surely blossom and flow.
Bring me life, not death designed to charm.
This twisted tradition we must disallow.