The Same Mask..

The smell of May is same and different, When the jasmines arrive in the baskets, Shape, colors and the scent are unique, When tied together to wear on the braids, Thousands of the frail hands plucked, Each little bud before the dawn and the light, The odor from their sweat evaporate, After the sun rise, once the baskets are loaded, Tons of jasmines from our fertile land, Bloom every day to prove and be proud, The ester from their stalk may mask, The sweat of our unaffordable people, Until then let these flowers get migrated, To camouflage and compete with the rest.