Ethereal shades hovering all around,
whimsical moments of enchantment across the air ,
moving like a quiet stream flow,
crafting scenic delight the mind wasn’t ready to prepare.
Tender branches sway,
swinging fleetingly in the unruly wind,
while thistle thorns dangle softly,
their silent wounds still unnamed.
Velvety textures of yellow
suddenly decide to follow a quiet rhythm,
trembling gently under the sunlit sky.
The quietest magic
bestowed upon the scenic branches,
as if a palette of magnificent pink
drenched the tendrils in a mystic dream,
too delicate to be described in precise words.
A magical outcry
bloomed nearby,
in the shade of deepest red,
and the tender soul felt blissfully led,
as if the world’s magic had suddenly paused
to watch the bloom quietly unfold.
Translucent white, detailing carefully,
rushed upon the branches,
making a beautiful reverie come true.
All of a sudden,
the surroundings overjoyed with glee.
Like unruly nature,
even in hovering tragedies,
it remained to bloom, it remained to bloom.
Like a sacred story hiding its pain,
deciding to resuscitate its resilient identity ,
The bougainvillea gently transcended its majestic beauty.