By: Nyokabi Ng’ang’a
Leshnyokabi@gmail.com
That BUDDING flower
That knows time
Time in a season
The season of every month,
That budding flower
That makes me an adult
An adult of days
With the days of frays;
Pain is elementary
When I bud as a flower
My emotions rage
My moods change;
I am a budding flower
Who cannot be understood by all
Aside from the ones who fall
For the budding season of our flowers;
I am a budding flower,
Within the process I feel pain
Out of the process I feel sane;
I am a budding flower…who cannot be understood by all.