Cry of the nature.

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Out of the spectacular green 

they are born to this garden.

The blossom outspread around the leaf,

But the recreant acted evil,wrenches the stalk,

Seizing her freedom to live.

The blossom is dying now,

Her beauty faded 

Blood unseen 

Imprisoned in the cold hands.

Her evocative aroma nobody felt, 

That dwells in the garden,

For she was only meant to be picked up.

As she advances to her death,

the divine agency arrived in the form of rain;

It’s not just raindrops,

It is the hope that will rejuvenate the blossom,

Nourishing her iternal spirit to survive.

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About the Author: ParthivRhythm Das

I'm an aspiring writer having an ardent passion for writing poems, short stories and quotes. | Nature Enthusiast | Dendrophile | Logophile | Poet |

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