Crafting My Existence

Speaking aloud, forging a path,
I am passing through, creating my own atmosphere.

Not even the stitching of a lifetime could cover me,
I remained bare, while crafting my own robe.

This is my spring, as I pass by,
Turning every dry tree into green.

Every branch continued to sway,
But the bird dried up while building its nest.

What more can happen, O Nandini, at the end of hardship?
I have shattered, while shaping my own mirror.