From this little bud emerges a cotton flower,
It will live on as a thread in an endearing fabric!
As I drive past these cotton plantations amidst blue skies and black soil,
Where will this flower go?
Into a weavers hand or a machine’s warp
What will it become?
An ikkat, a chanderi or an ilkal?
A saree, a dhoti, or a kurta?
As I cruise along with these thoughts guess who is looking upto the sun?