In the darkest hour, right before midnight,
When the world sleeps and shuts its sight,
The gloomy moon tends its ray of hope,
and shares its story with the dim light,
Some seeds unfold in the behest of silence,
Some wither, some survive, some quarrel the change
Some are seeds of wisdom, some seeds of pain,
Some are seeds of sorrow, some seeds of vain,
Some lay floundering in the shallow sea waters below,
Beholden to their destiny, for a chance to be buoyant again,
Some seeds unfold in the behest of silence,
Some wither, some survive, some quarrel the change
Some seeds of dreams that were flown from lands far and away,
Lay sleeping in the bosom of Gaia for her unsullied love,
Some were seeds that spoke volumes before, snubbed in their vain today,
Some that promised the wind a benevolent alter, hath a forest someday
Some seeds unfold in the behest of silence,
Some wither, some survive, some quarrel the change
Fortuitous and Propitious were the seeds that bud,
For the miffed seedling said she had taken enough,
Enough of struggle, for now, it is time for her to stand upright,
Enough of comfort, for she wanted to be outside in the world unknown,
Unfolding in the behest of silence, she quarreled this change,
As it dawned upon her, she realized that she was the change
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