The Sun, The Flower, and The Human

The sun rises and it is sure of itself.

Its rays do not need to be told where it should be.

In that moment of serenity, the certainty is strong.

No doubt springs from the horizon, only beauty.

On the ground, a flower blooms.

A tulip, a dandelion, a chrysanthemum.

The flower does not compete with the other.

Fearlessly she opens, happily she blooms.

When she withers, she doesn't say "What if."

When she dies, she gives a smile so sure.

Her fallen petals, soft on the ground.

A kiss of life and a memory of beauty,

now buried on the dirt, satisfied of the life she's lived.

The human watches all these - the sun with its rays,

the flower with her petals, the petals falling on the ground.

The human wonders - how, why, where, when, what.

Asking, demanding, exploring, slowing down, speeding up.

Fearing, doubting, sulking, tensing.

The human is not sure of herself.

She feels she needs to be told where she should be.

Stuck on a place, with so much uncertainty. 

She asks if she may smile. She does not know the answer.

Permission. She needs permission to even live.

She bows her head as she walks the path,

she has not chosen for herself.

The human waits for when she 

becomes like a ray of the sun,

a petal on a flower, or a dirt on the ground.

She waits for certainty, serenity, and beauty.

Then, time passed and the human withers.

All her life she searched for sureness.

All her life she longed for happiness.

All her life, the sun thought:

All her life, the tulip, the dandelion, 

and the chrysanthemum thought:

"How beautiful that human was.

She sees beauty in others,

but did not see the beauty in herself."

The sun sets in the horizon.

Then, it was nighttime again.

Love,

Mary Jedde