The Quiet Rebellion of Wildflowers in Urban Cracks

The concrete stretches, grim and grey and vast, 

A man-made empire, seemingly to last. 

But in the fissures, where the asphalt breaks, 

A silent promise, slowly now awakes. 

We are the Wildflowers, tenacious, green, and bold, 

A quiet rebellion, stories to unfold. 

Our tiny seeds, by wind or bird set free, 

Have found a foothold, for wild ancestry.

We push through pavement, with a gentle might, 

A splash of color, in the urban night. 

A single bloom, a vibrant, daring hue, 

A testament to nature, ever new. 

Against the dominance, of steel and stone, 

Our tender petals, bravely are now shown. 

A flash of yellow, where the shadows play, 

A touch of crimson, bright against the grey. 

Each delicate stem, a defiant, slender flag, 

No rigid order, no exhausting drag. 

We breathe the city air, though thick with haze, 

And bloom our beauty, through the endless days.

We are the wildness, subtly returned, 

A silent lesson, patiently unlearned. 

The urban sprawl, believing it controls, 

But life finds pathways, for its yearning souls. 

A simple dandelion, bold and fiercely bright, 

A splash of freedom, in the concrete light. 

We are the whisper, from the earth's deep core, 

That wildness lingers, forevermore. 

A quiet protest, in the city's eye, 

As nature triumphs, 'neath the indifferent sky.

- Khushi Kaul