We're like Dandelions, Rabbiya. The kind of Dandelions growing in the wild, Away from the sophisticated gardens of rich houses. We don't adorn their bright little vases or please their eyes. We just keep growing until the wind comes and blows us with it, Leaving the rosette dull and naked without the desires, Blowing in the sky, while the world enjoys the sight. Rabbiya, we're like the falling stars, Giving joy even when they are dying.