(used to be) my red rose

This poem was a gift I gave to somebody. He had a birthday on 11 March. Since I am a language user, I made a poem for him. I read it for him. When he asked me to translate it to bahasa Indonesia, I did. I read it in bahasa Indonesia. You know what, I couldn't stop crying during the time I read it. Surprisingly, he also cried though only for few seconds. I made this poem wholeheartedly. I also gave him a red rose, to make it more romantic. But now, everything goes in different way. The romantic story doesn't happen in my life. Everything changes. He is not my red rose anymore. Anyway, here is what I made for whom I used to hug....

My Red Rose

I have found it.

It’s like a red, red rose.

It’s not black, blue, or even white.

It’s pure red, the best red ever.

I took it on my way of searching best flower.

Actually, somebody wanted me to take a white one, instead of my choice on red.

Yet, I refused though its colour was the same as me.

So, I decided to take the best red rose which dancing nicely through the easy wind at an edge of a path.

Then, I bought it proudly wherever I went.

However, most people whom I met suggested me to throw away my red rose, regarding its dangerous thorns.

Yet, again, I refused it.

I had my own consideration on why I really wanted to keep the red rose, without ignoring that someday it would hurt me by its thorns.

I do believe that I can find happiness being with the red rose.

I enjoy everything I do with it.

I understand it and so does it.

No matter what colour we are, we pay respect to each other.

In fact, we both claim that we can maintain everything, though it needs our big effort, later on.

I just love that best red rose.

And,

You are that best red rose.

Thanks a lot for being with the white of me.

11-03-2014