In the indian era of traditions,
Pipal’s tree has its own importance.
But I see it as Old Monk,
With vast experience and exposure.
A tower with proud, faced
Number of difficult exposure.
But remained stick to its roots,
To grow old and show it’s glory.
I accept it’s fellowship, to enlighten
My heart when stuck in past.
But I am a plant of future,
Born in chest of Pipal,
Grabbed tight it’s branches,
To experience it’s conquest.
But in the end I grow flowers,
Of my own type,
Of my own virtue,
Of my own ways of glory,
And Pipal has to be quiet,
Because I lead the way to future,
And I carry it’s recognition,
To next generation.