When the golden sun was setting…
amongst the countless rivers flowing
from the purity of thy bosom
there emerged a beautiful rose
the one that beholds, bewitches
but can prick without a spell
To be swept away, thorn and all
down deep valleys, trembling past
the currents crashing, nature’s fury
the rocks striking, nature’s jury?
alas! neither current nor rock
could break her spirit, as she glides by
Downstream she floats, now placid
across little hammocks, little pebbles
a bunch of kids are struck in awe
amidst the enchanting spell
she casts upon her beholders
Lazily she calms down, her strife was of yore
amidst the old hamlet’s tranquil pond
the water is turbid and quiet now
underneath it hid creatures, big and small
does each have a story
of its downstream journey?
Then arose a moon, which lit up the sky
captured by the pond as a billion stars shone by
she glances at her mirror, her resting place
and now it’s her turn to be enthralled
by nature’s tricks and plays!
For there lay on the surface,
an image so heavenly
they may call it a lotus,
a flower with a thousand petals
to be serenaded amongst the murk
to be worshipped with the gods
so, doth the name alter thy strife?
She closes off her petals and sinks for the night
to be awake, to rise and to shine
to welcome at the break of dawn
the golden sun that arises yet again.
to be called a lotus, o! so pure, so divine!