Blossom rose on the concrete – Abubakar Ramadan Abdulmumeen

A little bird to me, “A wise man who knows proverb, reconciles difficulties.” I have chosen this topic because of the dramatic trips inspiration has taken to, coupled with our own literal definition and acceptability of life. We believe those born with silver spoons have secured automatic slots to live life devoid of stress, troubles, tears, sorrow, regrets and tragedies. We build our reasoning on the weak foundation that children born in the slums would never rise to be king or govern the lands of the affluent. The blossom rose, only rise in fertile lands, on fertile soils, with the help of an effective fertilizer. But, what could you say about the blossom rose, which had no nutrients, no fertilizer to grow or a fertile land to rise and become known in the midst of others. A blossom rose which struggles to cave a niche for itself on a concrete made of gravel, sand and cement to match and overshadow its counterparts breed in an exuberant garden.

One thing I believe is, whoever that is destined to be a king would definitely be, no matter where he was born and his relevance in the society. Do not get me wrong. I am not undermining the fact that hardwork and determination are not prerequisites for success, but no matter how hard and otherwise a man tries, the promise of his destiny would never go unfulfilled. The chains of richness in a family could go on for long, generation to generation, but that doesn’t guarantee that a certain number of people in such family who have no sour taste of hardships. One would wonder how rain beats a leopard’s skin and does out the spot. Que Sera Sera, what will be, will be.

Those who had engaged in stiff ties with life, who had woke up with nothing in their bellies, who slept resting their ugly heads on a mountain as pillows on the streets of calamity, who had gone far and near to make ends meet, who had sacrifices their blood, sweat and strength to become economically independent, who had maintained their integrity despite all odds and severity of the whips of the poverty, who had died many deaths and still alive unburied, struggling for revival in every legal way, who had no helping hands but still renew their hopes and focus and give their confidence and determination the chance to change their lives. The survivors of these tragic battles, are the Blossom Rose On The Concrete.

They had faced failures and disappointments times without number. They had gone to the lands of unknown creatures with just a ticket, saying nobody goodbye. They had pretended to feign life and see beyond their ordinary sights. They had taking rightful steps wrongly. Sometimes, wrongly accused and punished for sins they knew not who committed. They had cried cries of those who couldn’t afford a teardrop in the eyes. Roads from rural to urban, from Lagos to Kano to Calabar could identify their footprints. They had tried trying. Trying to open every gate that leads to success. These are people I regard as the Blossom Rose On The Concrete.

One would keep wondering when all their physical, mental and emotional investments would yield abundant profits. When they would stop yearning for an endless rain to quench their thirst and ease their tired bodies. When their dried skins would be resuscitated with nutritious foods and proper medical treatments. When they would live no more in the slums and live comfortably as they had dreamed. When hardship itself would feel sorry enough to torment again, and on their behalf negotiate with unmatched solace to mark the beginning of both economic and social freedom. When the society would come en masse to celebrate their breakthroughs from the deadly bondage of the calamities that had befallen them.

Hopefully, the palm of their hands itches and the coming of great lucks sets them free.