Wildflower by Suhrith Bellamkonda (California)

Tell me, 
O wildflower, 
what is wrong? 
What beguiles you, 
what allures your covetous heart? 
Why do you seek the burden of beauty— 
          is it not enough, the petals you have? ​

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You strain your eyes, but you fail to realize 
          that you are scrutinizing for something that 
                    is tucked away in the dark— 
          that your utopia is but a fruitless fantasy 
                    vanquished by the winds 
                              of fortune and fame. 

O wildflower, 
That life is endless sob of sorrow and regret—
for as you give up your life, 
          in return, none you get. 
Besides, what vitality and strength do you lack? 

The world strangles your conflicted conscience
sifting you down to the bottom of the pack— But
beauty is not found by looking, nor searching, but by
knowing, 
and I know you thrive, despite being stepped upon—
you sing and dance and twirl and laugh, 
procuring sunlight in the darkest of alleys. 
I know you are the daughter of the breath ocean waters—
and after all, you are a flower, 
and all flowers bloom. 

Tell me, 
O wildflower, 
what is wrong? 
For what faith— 
         what soul— 
                    what spirit, and 
                              what power— 
is better found 
than in a wildflower?​