The Rose of Jericho

I was withered, wandering through—
A deserted Love Street as a preacher:
I was a desiccated mindless dreamer, in
A world, where people only adore charm.
People laughed at my dullness— But,
They ignored what was inside. A dormant
Life; if watered (loved), would bloom;
If taken care of, will stretch again to live.
Nevertheless

Some took me as a source of prosperity; Some took me to soothe the dead souls;
Some associated me with a 'Holy One'—
And, once satisfied, they didn't even care;
Left in a corner, I shed tears (fronds).
But, I was neither a Phoenix nor a myth.
As I was protecting myself, curling a fist—
From the harsh wind, that dried my soul.
But, oh gracious God

Thy art is so fine! I was lost in the dark,
You sent hues into my life. She came;
Riding the noble charioteer she hailed
And fell into this earthly hell as an angel;
On my chest, she rested— and I lived.
And I lived forevermore. O, crystal life!
I may not be a Rose, but I rose again, When— You touched my soul.
La vie en rose...