It blooms on that withered tree,
the leaves flap in the absence of wind,
the birds chirping soundlessly,
it rains heavily with thunders overwhelming.
the spirit of love,
rips out the frame and the soul.
a feeling that strikes,
which none can decipher.
why love the blossom,
when time refused to spare.
why love the bird,
when ground houses all.
why not the Creator,
when He is for eternal.