Yet To Be Mentally Retarded..

When the weeds are cultivated, With great passion of deceit and hate, The legitimate plants of the field, Can’t weep or cry to protest, When human are left to face the fact, Many hearts are beyond reparable state, Scar tissues are there on the red bundle, Kept beside the torching abusive candle, The heads of the roses are down premature, Though the water and enough nutrients available, The weeds are overgrown around these petty plants, The hands of the sun are hard to reach, To touch the leaves to pass the message, To the blooms that there is a hope, In every heart of the human who is abused, Not to keep their heads down in melancholic state, Learning to keep the heads and eyes erect, Is the hardest action that one could execute….