There are flowers in the garden watered daily by passing lover's tears. Slowly each of the flowers begins their growth, and what once were buds, open up to reveal the splendor of their beauty and cast their fragrance to the wind.
Roses are romantic, lilies pure, but they do not make my favourite. It is the Amaryllis which has its pride and pastoral poetry that to me is home. Flowers have their language and if you listen, you can hear them whispering the softest poetry in their own style. If you pay attention, you will be drunk in their sweet scent and they will share with you their deepest secrets.
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Drunk in the softest poetry of Tirta, the Amaryllis becomes the metamorphosis of a titan surviving in the coldest winter and amongst the closest guardian of his warm and velvet love. Her beauty is tame comparing to his obsessive admiration of her beauty. Beauty is lonely without a secret admirer, but beauty is better kept in dreams. Dreams are the ultimate eternity of love, admiration and fantasy, for flowers will wilt, people will grow old, but only dreams can last forever.
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