The flower bloomed high up on the tree.
A splash of red among the green leaves.
The stone sat on the cold earth’s floor –
Midnight-black, and in a constant stupor.

Contented, they were, in their own worlds
Oblivious to how their fates would unfold.
The fragrant flower smiled in the breeze
While the stone stood unmoving, stoically.

One day, the rain fell from the grey skies.
Along with it, a gust of wind passed by.
The delicate flower was soon detached,
And it floated down from the tree’s lap.

It twirled away in its freedom newfound
Landing at the stone’s foot on the ground.
In that fortuitous moment of Pushpanjali,
The impassive dark stone attained Divinity.