A Whisper In Devil's Ear

As a lotus raises its head to receive the sun rays I wait expectantly for my Lord's whisper in my ears. In the forms of Satan or tempter, evil has its ways. Amidst my fears, it enters my spheres and wishes me cheers. Whispers between blossoms and flies are secret and sacred. Agape of give and take are amalgamated in them. What else can the ways of the devil be except hatred? They deceive as the fading colours of petals and stem. I'll give you the world and wonders, he says, as though they're his. Can I take these with me when I pass through the cave of my grave? Each moment of my existence has been a baffling quiz His whispers would enslave me while the divine grace would save. A tree might listen to the voices of both storm and breeze. Though they bear the sounds of storms, does any tree feel at ease?