Flowers wither away soon.
The fragrance ends in a jiffy
And the charm doesn’t last for long.
Gardens are watered to dry,
Seeds are sown to die,
Care is properly taken for the last journey
And the gardener has to sigh.
In place of water, blood is irrigated to the thirsty land,
For the sake of bliss, young bodies are cut.
In homes, snakes and vipers live,
While the inhabitants have left the habitation.
Poison is in place of nectar,
So flowers kill us with love.
In our place, flowers wither away soon.
