Dear Ruins!
I am writing this letter to you
Ahead of spring, that winter has stooped
Warmth of sun is felt again.
Each morning and evening
Rains often come with thunderstorms.
This season,
Flowers have promised to bloom.
Every corner of the earth,
Is hopeful to host one or the other.
Dear Ruins!
In your lap, out of thorns
The buds will sprout
And flowers will grow
This summer,
The fragrance of which will pass
To every wavering heart.


© Imtiyaz Pan Dow