Observing a tulip in our backyard,
blowing from side to side in the sunshine,
standing tall and erect with a slight bend,
energetically stationary, still
reeling over its bold crimson petals,
visually exorbitant by sight,
inviting the springtime to celebrate,
noticeably noticeable and bright,
giving winter the cold shoulder, heave-ho,
assuming the assumption as it blooms,
trusting the sun to loafe behind the clouds,
undeniably certain of the facts,
languishing in the crepuscular light,
indubitably at ease, the tulip
prolonging its pleasure to lean and loafe,
inadvertently attached to sunlight,
negotiating photosynthesis,
observing herself as a red tulip,
uttering mantras to herself, her lips
restlessly quivering in the mirror,
belonging to no one except herself,
actively meditating in her soul,
contriving to fit in is a mistake,
kinetically performing her duty,
yellowing, she becomes golden within,
answering to no one, she becomes queen,
reverberating with the summer grass,
diametrically opposed, she belongs.
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