SUNDAY SAGA...

"Did you hear about the rose that grew from a crack in the concrete?
Proving nature's laws wrong,
it learned to walk without having feet.
Funny, it seems to by keeping its dreams; it learned to breathe fresh air.
Long live the rose that grew from concrete when no one else even cared."

I woke up to a very usual Sunday morning until the unusual happened. It was serendipity at its best, having actually discovered a rose peeping from behind the wall in my cousin's little garden - a place too humble for a rose to grow. A white rose, that is. And it left me searching for the apt lines from English poetry. 

There were thorns...there was sand and gravel...and that age-old wall dotted with crevices all over. And then there was that rose. Little but fresh, its petals holding themselves high - so proud of their dainty white. Happy, it must have been to have got noticed. Finally! Having been a misfit all this while, it had dared to survive where other flowers didn't. It had braved solitude...stood apart from the crowd of colours...and celebrated the hostility it had been subjected to. 

It became one beautiful memory.