The phase.

Silent pensive heart,
Seeks nothing.
Acts indifferent,
Lost and Low too.

That phase,
Which needs expression.
That phase,
Will pass too.

The moment where pain reaches the core,
Conversations share no stories.
And smiles lose their meaning.
In that empty space of realization..
The little bud on a bloom,
Prays to remain a bud forever.

For it needs not to grow,
Or flourish, or shine.
For it doesn't want to be colored
Or judged or bruised by those who do.

For it feels untouched and pure.
For it feels virginal and sure.
For the world is out there to take away,
Everything it ever had.
For it is not ready to lose,
The best of itself everyday.

Kill the world must,
Die it will.
But to come to life,
It may chose never to.
In that world of immortality,
it rather remain, insignificant.