‘The Gardener’-by Mohammad Hannan

It was a mere lackluster seed;so ashamed
of itself, in a despoiled soil, I picked
up ;absent mindedly and brought up
In my garden, my deadened spirit.
A whim of sudden rain or my mind watered,
and it started growing;you can not tell
ab’t a seed; so special, by its look, smell
or flavor It has its own mysteries.

It grew and diffused in mind, wrought
all the pleasures and happiness of this
world in a life so short and fleeting.

I grew the seed or did the seed grow me?
Difficult to tell, both’re growing in the garden
And learning an invisible trade of living.

You don’t have anything here but this garden,
What you do is your choice
You have a sky out there, silent and echoing,
With fake realities.

The gardening goes on silent,You never know
A gardener inside you, so dedicated and falsely assured.

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