A Beautiful Flower.

A Beautiful Flower,

In the sight,

Of my eyes,

Made my day,

Much more shining

And bright.

The flower seemed to be blessed,

And had the ability to make a person smile

The flower’s popularity, was never the less growing more and more with it becoming widely known,

And lots of people buying it nearly for every occasion.



A Rose Woke Up in the morning.

A Rose Woke Up in the morning.

A rose woke up in the morning,

To find its fragrance gone.

It was floating around its baby rose,

The God of Flowers was making it bloom.

The rose was very happy,

And kissed its baby Huuuuummmmmmmmaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

The baby smiled,

And the rose bloomed,

For everything is His might.



Spring Has Come.

Spring Has Come,

Oh! How very fine.

Flowers will bloom,

Mustard fields will be full of yellow shine.

Spring has come,

Kites will be flown,

Trees will swing with happiness.

All will say,

“It’s springtime, it’s springtime.”

Spring has come,

So have the exotic birds.

Bird watchers are gathering at such places,

Where migratory birds come and

They look very grand and extremely fine.

Spring has come,

So have the holidays,

But before that exams have to be given,

Without which students can’t say,

“Hip, Hip, Hooray.”

Spring time is a beautiful time,

Which we all like.

It is the time of festivals,

Of happiness and of sheer Joy.

Springtime has come,

So it has.



My Friend, My Tree.

I ran to the tree,

It was attracting me.

I ran and hugged its trunk.

It was so tough,

But it shed,

Some dry leaves and small flowers.

Flowers were violet,

I loved to see them on the earth,

And the leaves were yellow green,

Which were of dry days back.

I took few flowers in my palm,

Felt their blessings.

Leaves were their friends.

They too are fallen.

They are reminisces of the past and the present,

And I am of the same.

Make me friend oh! My tree.

Make me tough as much as I can be.

Make me shed my dry days back.

Make my pain blossom in love,

As the flowers in thee.


I hugged the rough trunk of the tree


The Stale Flowers.

The stale flowers are not to smell,

The stale flowers do not fall,

They have fallen a long time ago,

As they couldn’t soar the skies,

As they couldn’t reach the nigh,

The stale flowers were once beautiful,

The stale flowers were once flowers of which were all good,

But now they are being absorbed in the nature,

Rather than being trodden upon,

The stale flowers were once yellow,

Now that yellow is all gone,

It’s like they were never born,

Never been good,

Never have seen the day,

The flowers which were once yellow in colour

Are now nothing but stale.

Staleness is good, it doesn’t upset you.

Now what upsets is when nothing comes out of good.

Good remains good, state remains stale.

The flowers are naturally a part of the nature,

Whether they be stale or good,

It’s simply time and man’s play.