In the whispers of the evening breeze,
Nisha knows the ancient trees.
Through the pages of the starry night,
She reads the tales in soft moonlight.
In the language of the blooming flowers,
Nisha understands the secret hours.
Her essence, a poem in the gentle rain,
A rhythmic dance, a sweet refrain.
With every sunrise, a verse unfolds,
Nisha’s story, in hues untold.
In the canvas of dawn, her spirit shows,
A living poem, as the river flows.