they never tried to understand others—
Yet demanded the world open-handed.

I suspect,
That isn't how things are done.

I know
the world's a weary sphere,
where cruelty thrives,
and injustice lingers.

but not all—
not everyone—
They are as shady as the rest.

some are beautiful—
As beautiful as white tulips.
Purified, innocent, lenient.
Soft in this world that eats its flesh.

Why do selfish people pluck the petals of white tulips?
Why do they color them red?
Why must white tulips' happiness last only for spring?

tell me—
It's a whole minute of bliss,
Is that enough for a human to live?