❀ KISMET’S BEDDABLE MIRACLE,
I am blooming in crumbled garden.

Footsteps embedded among soil, the more weights I clashed—where I reached another disheveled flower garden, abandoned alone for no reason. Flowers wither, breeze turns to flame, essence feels decaying. Whether a melancholic nightmare or a blessing, what God has noticed adequate to allocate me, the miserable one glancing the bewitched paradise through obscure lenses. However, fresh zephyr blossomed from nowhere, as if endowing me the faithful candescence that tomorrow there’d still be a reason to persist. Flamingo transpires each daylight, coming to establish the atmosphere, shine too sacred.