Once I am told, There is something precious than gold. Nothing, but a scent, In which the world will lend. Beauty is not a word, To demonstrate it as sacred. Medina holds that marvel, Of the ever sustaining floral. My beloved is the nucleus, Above all the trends of righteousness. It’s an ever-living fragrance, Which lies beyond the lovers. Yet I haven’t tasted, Still, my mind follows its playlist. Beyond the surge of memory; The scent of beloved is legendary!