The Flower Loves

I’ll not barter love for a thousand comforts,
I’ll not cut old pieces of my heart,
Paint them new and put them up,
These broken pieces are gold,
I am different than I was before,
I see now that the flower wilting on the sand,
Will not die,
The heat of the blistering sun won’t melt it,
The tiny claws of the rodents will find no joy,
Only the hand that’ll bend to pick the flower,
Will know how deeply the flower loves…

Photo courtesy - The Song Of The Sufi Masroof