A fallen beauty

    On my way from the store this morning, while walking down the foggy streets of the city, I encountered a rose stem. It had leaves, thorns and lay straight without a single twist or imperfection, and yet it was missing its head and therefore trodden on with muddy shoes of all sorts. Trash is what now people call it, rubbish that flaws the stone streets, and with that in mind its frozen fragile body is swept up by the cleaning crew, without a single thought of guilt. But I felt guilty and probably, were my hands free from the groceries, I would have adopted this crippled homeless rose, as I have with many before it. But this morning it was not the case, this post is to commemorate the fallen beauty.
    We pick flowers, bring them home let them endure a slow and painful death in many a fancy vase and as soon as they begin to crumble and loose their looks and scent, we are done with them - we through them away. The earth bares it, even if time to time goes on a spree of revenge, this is of course just one of the many insults we pin to its sore back. We are incredibly vain creatures, obsessed with perfection and beauty, as we see it and how we see it, that we forget to take a moment and look at the headless rose. How is she not beautiful or miraculous how can anyone just step on it or pass its little soul and not pay a compliment to what she has to offer? In a way its the least we could do after the murder we committed. Don't try to deny your part in it, it is all our fault, those who have done the killing and those who have not stopped it.
        I do not care to preach about not picking roses, that would be to abjure the way we were programed. I do however care to point out that there are dead roses among us, and once we decide on their unimportance, apathy crawls in and swallows us. First we trod on roses and later on our foggy way we trod on people. the world becomes a number game.
        The foggy city has long forgotten the meaning of empathy because it has become stone a long lime ago. The fog lulls it into sleep. And soon the fallen beauty too is asleep and is slowly incorporated into the stone walk. As day turns into night the world will blot this little tragedy out, as it has done with so many others, at the snap of its fingers. Good bye fallen rose sleep well.