seemingly there for eternity,
wondering if we will all,
being the controllers of our destiny,
fearing nothing at all.
Are we really there at all,
are we not revolving at one place?
Like roses we shine,
beautifying the whole place.
Do we know the source of our water that keeps us blooming?
Do we really care?
Flowers are nothing without water,
but do people see the beauty in water or the flower?
Being the controllers of our lives as we are,
we see ourselves as the masters of it all,
Many words do not fill a basket, but I have spoken.
I won't keep quite, for I fear silent man,
for their lips are like drums.
Lest we forget that we are nothing but just a mist,
we only rule in the morning and never in the afternoon.
