THAT LITTLE GRASS

The claws of darkness

Swept away the sun today,

As the incessant drops wetted the grass again.

The world thought the grass a trifle,

The trees never knew if it was there at all,

And humanity trampled it unknowingly.

The grass had some story to tell,

The grass had something to express,

But it didn’t know its destiny was in the ground itself.

Sometimes it sprang up

Under the bright morning sun,

And dallied with the dew drops.

When it sprang,

It tried to share—

Whatever seemed new to it,

Whatever seemed unique to it.

Sometimes the grass desired to grow

Tall like the tree,

Strong like the man,

But alas! Nature didn’t permit him such.

When it tried to share,

The other grasses mocked at it,

The trees never paid heed;

And man, like always, trampled it.

Sometimes the grass was wetted,

Sometimes it was bent under heat;

But it tried hard to stand erect defying the inclement.

It wanted to live;

It wanted to see the rainbow

Like all others;

It wanted to shine through darkness;

But its destiny was founded.

It got to understand—

The meaning of a grass,

The meaning of its roots,

The meaning of its existence.

Trampled, wetted, crushed—

At last when it could bear no more,

When it had lost the blood of desire,

The grass-cutter uprooted it,

And threw it away.

And such was the end,
Of the short and sweet life,

Of the grass.