I was once a fully bloomed daisy.
But then every time you hurt me
You ripped out a petal
Till I was left with with none
And you were finally done with me.

And there I was..
Left empty and alone.

When assigned to nature you must take care of your section. With the top 1% of the top 1% not caring for their section orderly, we must take a stand as bearers of gifts.
Introducing Flower Girl, her mark - bluebells delicately dancing around her eyelids; solution of hydration loosely hanging from her eyelashes. Protector of the bluebells.
Spring, Summer... a jolly state following suit as she beams to the sun above, the coloured flowers upon her skin basking in the energy radiated.
Autumn, Winter... the sun doesn’t appear as often, energy is lost and not just for the bluebell companions. Flower Girl doesn’t reach towards the slithers of sunlight anymore. Blue turns to brown, happiness turns to hopelessness. Solution of hydration sacrificed to the angry clouds and viciously spat back out against the soil.
Introducing River Boy, his mark - fresh, cold fingertips, water droplets as clear as glass stored within his veins. Protector of water, protector of Flower Girl.
A brisk touch to her cheek, their eyes meet. Brown turns to blue, hopelessness turns to happiness. Solution of hydration replaced upon her eyelashes, preserved water finally fulfilling its purpose.
When assigned to nature you must take care of your section. A section for a section, an act of caring kindness for a revived life. Bluebells may only bloom with the helping of water.

Innocuous wishes shape the magic of my prayer, raising hands to absolute ordeals. Flooded thirst climbs high to nirvana rattling. Cross of prayers vanish the ethereal evanescence of human comprehension. No living being can detect the nest of my secluded harmony, nor Gods of any faith can kiss with their perception the soft outrage of blooming spirits that dwell inside my treasured charm.

so gentle and understanding

pining silently, too friendly looks

brushes, only an artist would use

our union under the moon

what should've been, blooming for you

even as I depart, I leave you keeper of my heart

watch over me well, my tender one

It’s supposed to be spring
So where are the flowers?
The brightest of stars
Bringing beautiful laughter
-
If it’s supposed to be spring,
Then where are my flowers?
My laughter my love and my beautiful chapters?
-
If it’s supposed to be nice, if I’m supposed to be done
Then why do I feel like just flesh without bone?
-
Why am I empty
And frozen throughout?
Am I missing my springtime by having this drought?
-
My flowers have settled
To stay in the ground...
I’m sorry, my spring never showed up this round.

Our world today shines much brighter
the month ahead is Ramadan!
Blooming upon us is the best of the months
Ahlan wa sahlan ya Ramadan!

Chockablock with pure blessings
is the oasis in the opulence.
Bountifully raised dizzying high
comes with the Night of Measures
better than a thousand months.
Ahlan wa sahlan ya Ramadan!

Everyone, near and far
only look up high!
No rainbow can outshine
the finest face of the serene moon
is about to show up.
Welcome it loud with the whole heart
Ahlan wa sahlan ya Ramadan!

a little cup dripping with warm memories of spring flowers,
forgotten in this cold city

being around you feels just like a movie,
and i am the entranced spectator
watching as the frames zoom in closely,
my desperate eyes trying to capture
moments where you unknowingly cause butterflies
and gardens to bloom from within me.
each time your fingers tightly grasp mine,
i want to replay that heart-stopping scene
for the feelings of dizzying euphoria
to endlessly run through my veins,
much like what people want more of
once a breathtaking movie comes to an end.
i know that whenever i am with you,
forever does not seem like a long time,
and if this wonderful movie starring only us two
continues into the lovely night, i would not mind.