Amid dusty roads thee stood,
Amid drought thee doth not wilt.
Amid scorching rays thee doth not shrivel.
Amid incessant downpour thee doth not drown.
Amid gusty gales thee flung but a gentle swing.
Amid dusty roads thee glees thy bloom.
Amid tiresome load of thy bloom,
Thee housed numerous pupae and their adults.
Now may I interrogate thee?
Thy exquisite blooms?
Thy waxy lush leaves?
Thy hardy firm roots?
O’ Lovely thee!
What have thee absorbed through thy roots that made thee explicitly lovely?
What made thee withstand the vagaries of catastrophes?
What inner peace thee possess that made thee smile always?
Can thee hear me?
Can thee see if I paint a picture of thy flawless blooms?
Let’s come to consent:
A painted picture of thee would I present before thee.
The same would I frame with verses appraising thy beauty.
This would I share with the people around the globe,
And so shall I make thee famous,
Make thee overtake the status of rose,
Make thy fragrance be greeted by every nostril.
But I need thy promise,
For thee to unfurl a truth to my long awaited quests.