endowed birth from
dying blossoms.
Blew through the wind
to whoever destined.
I now lay
under the dirt,
moisture feeds my thirst.
I metamorph,
into a sprout.
A dormant 
has gained life,
through torment.
But, 
joys do come 
from painful ascent
of my sprout which
craves,
air and light,
and a niche
in the world
I know barely.
The world that lives
its own life
with much more strife
and the needs to survive.
The world where
there is light, and
air and animation,
unlike mine that
is only deprivation.
But,
I continue
'cause I knew that
once another 
season is through, 
I will have new blossoms.
I will be then a part
of the life outside.
>From the miserable abode 
of mine,
and all this
deprivation and pain.
I know,
at least my life
may not have gone in vain 

by Aurangzeb PARACHA
aurangzebparacha@hotmail.com