Some flowers bud and withers before bloom
Never to dream again, withered, before fallen again
Drooping branches, sign of resignation of nature
Tired enough; no passersby, or even some who could caress the beauty
Too much to bear, the early boon given away easily
Sleep, some souls never dream of waking amidst the untimely interruption
Rare notes of beauty and it's fragrance visits the quietest night
When moon settles on her bosom, embraced by pure love
Unfolding petals, the divine nature across a perfumed land
-Amitav Chowdhury
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