DEATH OF FRAGRANCE

I blossom with fragrance
I blossom, though I am wood
I blossom with grace and nonchalance
Then, came the butcher of wood
To chop me off with a knife, for his own good
Tears drown my mother trunk
And I am drowned in the poison

That the butcher drunk
At times in his casket, at times in his basket
I travel through the forests and land up in streets
Where the master of death meets and greets
He takes me to the grave,

Which may be his house or a factory
Where I reside for some angel to save
None comes to rescue, I await in death queue
Crush in a machine to tinge forehead or skin
Serve the gods and demons as they were my kith and kin
Whether I wither in the air or drown in waters
Who cares?
For, I am Sandalwood meant to die for others good