The Sunflower

You rise with the hunger of a thousand dawns,  

gold spilling from your throat,  

your face a furnace,  

Your roots clutching the earth  

like a child’s fist around a secret.  

The sky leans down to listen.  

You do not beg for light—  

You command it.  

Each petal a blade cutting through the gray,  

your spine unbending,  

even as the wind hisses through your leaves.  

At dusk, you bow,  

not in surrender,  

But in devotion.  

Your seeds are promises  

whispered to the soil-

"One day, I will stand this tall.  

One day, I will burn this bright.

Until then, I kneel beside you,  

learning the language of light."

© Meghna, 2025, All rights reserved.