If

As the clouds slowly begin to emanate their dominance over the scorching sun, the weather is not the only thing that is in a state of unrest, the sun is not the only thing that is feeling undone. If this is what the oncoming monsoons have in store, then I would gladly spend the rest of my life sauntering under the sultry sun.

As the innocent first drops of water gently kiss the perched land, with life oozing from every trickle, all its hope of a sublime welcome come crashing down the moment it touches the die-thirsty land and is unceremoniously soaked in. If this kind of an abrupt, cruel end is what in store, then I would gladly spend the rest of my life far away from this ill minded milieu.

As the delicate, young blades of grass, in their own artistic paradigm, make their way into this planet of life, they have to unwillingly become an adversary of their own siblings and fight for their very existence. If this is the kind of a living that awaits, then I would gladly be a lifeless spectator than be a part of this grotesque existence.

As the tiny little bud slowly blossoms into its prime, a spectacle more grandeur than any man made marvel, boasting of a smell more divine than any other, it is heartlessly plucked out – its grandiosity short lived – and not of any help against its fatal enemy. If this is what resplendence leads to, then I would gladly give-up all the external glint for a simple but rather friendly life.