The hibiscus flower

In the garden of dawn where the sun takes birth,
There blooms a flame on the emerald earth.
A hibiscus flower, bold and bright,
Waking the morning, kissing the light.

Crimson petals like whispers of fire,
Soft yet fierce, born of desire.
It sways in the wind, proud and free,
A symbol of strength, of beauty, of me.

It does not beg for the rose’s fame,
Nor envies lilies with royal names.
It stands alone, with grace profound,
Its colors sing, though it makes no sound.

Each petal tells a tale untold,
Of summer’s heat and sunsets gold.
It drinks the rain, it faces storms,
Yet blooms again — in perfect form.

Oh hibiscus, gentle flame divine,
You teach the world your secret line:
That beauty fades, but spirit stays,
In hearts that glow through life’s rough days.

You are not fragile, though soft you seem,
You hold the sun, you cradle dreams.
A warrior dressed in silken hue,
A mirror of life — strong and true.

And when the night begins to fall,
Your head bows low, yet through it all,
You whisper softly, “I’ll rise again,”
When dawn returns — I’ll bloom the same.

So let the hibiscus remind our hearts,
That every ending births new starts.
No matter how brief our shining hour,
We live in beauty — like the hibiscus flower.