(A short story) - lets see who is the true reader.
As the winter gave birth to the spring, Once again the gates of the village were flung open and the joy of the flowers flew across the prairies. Another wrinkles were drawn by the stream and another murmur was made by the windings in those glades.
With it's great effort, a little hand given by the sun and a little push by the breeze, A tiny bud was able to draw it's head out of a flower bed.
People of the village were as though bestowed a gift by the mother nature.As the nature nurtured the bud, People adored it and consecrated it into their dreams.
Days passed, Time was intertwined with the joy whence it raced with itself.Now the tiny bud was not tiny anymore , for it has started to show it's crimson petals.It's aroma intoxicated the minds of villagers. The villagers would adore it with their fingers as though their fingers were brushed by the feathers of a fairy.
Along with the flower , a thorn was also developed. It was as though a darkness upon it's own day for no one adored it.One day the flower said " Oh my comrade! I pity for you are not beautiful as me ,for you are not adored or touched".As it said those things to the thorn, Both of them heard a sound of foot-steps.
Together they beheld a beautiful girl walking towards them, soon as the girl saw that flower ,She said" oh what a beautiful flower! It surely deserves to quiver in my bosom for it's appearance". Saying so she beheaded the flower. The flower in pain cried for mercy but in vain. For it's voice was naught but a vanishing mist in the ears of the girl. Then the thorn said with a pride in his voice" Sorry, my comrade! For your pity was naught but a bragging sound in my ears, For it is the consequence of your own beauty not my ugliness".