Weeds1 min 565 1 min 565
Father was ready to work in the scathing morning,
Gallows humour was standing beside his mind,
He went to the garden for weeding,
Green grass was all around,
Turning back and forth he started weeding,
He couldn't understand,
Why do all these happen every few months?
I went to see him after listening to bachata,
Which I bought from my work city.
"Stop father! Don't do that,
You are blemishing the art of grass and land,
They are the fountainhead of love,
See, how they are looking beauteous together,
Nature has its own message."
Are you a galoot my dear!!!
My father shouted,
I didn't tell a word there,
But inside my heart,
I was laughing.
Let them apart,
They would come again and again,
Because love has no end,