After the run through the muddy waters,
After crawling through the trenches,
You come to the bottom of the mountains.
You can park your motorcycle behind the trees
And start your climb up.
The climb will still be unforgiving,
You may want to jump down
Or even worse you may want to stop.
But If you have a heart to bear all that
And still keep on
You can reach the top,
And on top there is the sun,
The sky and the gods.
But there is something much better,
Something which lies at the edge of the cliff,
The tiny little sunflower staring at the burning sun.

She would look like she was waiting her whole life to be found by you,
She would have two leaves which flutter love,
Her yellow would not espy you unless the wind wanted her too,
But once she turns her face away from the sun,
You are invited to take her,
You should touch her gently,
Caress her,her smell may remind you of the moist earth and things you would never have seen and felt.
You can put her in your pocket,
Gently,
Gradually,
She is tender,
She is pure,
She carries with her the fire of the sun,
The warmth of April wind
And peace from the divine rain gods.
She might just be the most beautiful creation you’ll ever see,
She may be life
Or may even more,
Maybe even beyond-
Words,
Feelings,
Descriptions.
After you have her in your shirt.
You can slowly start to make your way down,
Sing her poetry while you go down,
Keep her safe,
Away from all the dirt, the dust, the thorns,
The cats, the eagles and the foxes.
Her time will be slowly dying,
But don’t let her hurt,
You’re all she has,
When you finally reach you motorcycle behind the trees,
Touch her,
See her and say to her she’ll be alright.
She might give you a painful smirk,
You may notice her yellowness fading into the air,
You feel her getting cold,
Her leaves may hardly flutter love anymore.

Kick your motorcycle to life,
Ride with her through the desolate indian highways.
Show her her last sunset,
Ride her into it, gently with great care,
Ride till one of you droops,
Or maybe both of you droop.
And the world will take a picture of a flower and a man riding into the setting sun.
And the picture will die with the mourning earth.
Isn’t life beautiful?
Or is it?