Every Rose Has a Thorn

Since every rose has a thorn, if life isn’t accepted thorns and all, the beauty of what it has to offer will be missed because the thorns will be the energy of one’s focus.

No one escapes life pain free, whether emotional or physical. We all have a so called thorn in our side, but it doesn’t have to keep one from experiencing life to the fullest. If this thorn becomes one’s daily focus, it will be an obstacle that blocks the ability to see the beauty that life has to offer. Just as every rose has a thorn, every life has some level of pain, but just as a thorn is a part of a rose and pain is a part of life, it doesn’t have to control you. You may say how can that be with all the tragic events that occur, but when you awaken to see nothing is truly permanent or personal in life, it makes it a lot easier not to attach to the thorns, and without attachment the thorns will still be there, but they will hardly be noticed; this is because the beauty of life will be where one’s focus is.

Although for much of my life the thorns were the focus which didn’t allow the beauty of the roses to be seen, it’s not this way today. The thorns are still there per se, it’s just that there today there’s an awareness of them, this allows for a choice which I didn’t always have, to attach to them or not. I’ve learned life itself is neither easy nor hard, thorns are just a part of it as it is with a rose, but my energy doesn’t have to focus on the thorns by wishing or praying they weren’t there. Although I may not embrace the thorns, I don’t ignore them, I just accept them for what they are and I don’t allow them to block out the beauty of what life has to offer, thorns and all. 

Michael Cupo
Clark, Nj , United States Of America


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My great grandfather was a Slave

My grandfather was a Native

My grandmother was a Bantu

My mother was a kaffir, Nigga, Negro

Names imposed by shackles

But an Afrakan I am

An identity my forefathers were deprived of


An identity I am now polluting with the fumes of cigarettes

In dope I am giving it another face

In ecstasy I am giving it a comical image

My drunken stupor gives it an unstable belonging

My borrowed accent contradicts what it represents

My imitated dress code conceals its beauty

My adopted religion undermines my intellectual prowess

My language deafens my ancestors

My values are valueless

My mind is discriminatory

It repels anything indigenous

Whilst absorbing all that is alien

None can identify with me

Even those I am emulating

Patriotism I reserve for my kind

I look down at my patriots

If I were xenophobic

I could have been my own victim

I pride myself in my slanted inferior education

An education promptly deleting my true history

Ignorance is my custom

I am dreaming dreams my forefathers cannot interpret

I am singing praise songs for my dying culture

I am branding a heritage

I cannot inherit

Knowledge of freedom is embedded in my subconscious

But suppressed by fear

Fear to develop my culture and identity

Fear to be rejected by the world

Fear to be different and still love myself

Yet with no identity I remain

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