An endless rope of strength
At times cut into pieces
It deepens roots of soul
growing endlessly to last breaths

For it knows no words
No language, no boundaries
It’s the the dance of Peacock
First ray of the day, rooster of life.

If life is a race,
Hopes are the legs
Though potent as lion
it derives it’s rhythm
from sweet nightingale.

It’s the storm of the age
Heights of mountains
Depth of the sea
Omnipresent but selfless,
Carrying seeds of existence for all.

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