UNDER THE GROUND

Roots

My hands are always soiled with mud,
And each one looks the same as the other 
In my large extended family, spread as far as Earth itself.

It is cool down here,
A silent, calming darkness
Where I know not when I am asleep or awake.

But sometimes I grow weary of this black stillness.
My world is a hushed secret,
Where the occasional wriggle of an insect creates a buzz.

Will I ever see the world outside,
Or is it as dark as my own?

I think not.

For, the leaves had told me once
That there is light above this underground
Where a Sun shines.

And one day had the trunk nervously whispered to me ,
That it is hard to meet eyes with the Sun.
But that doesn’t worry me much,
As I can only feel, and my vision is blurred.

But do I really want to face the world outside
Leaving my cozy place underneath?

I think not.

For, my ears are made for hearing the silence,
My veins find comfort running in the dark,
And I can feel alive only in this world
Under the ground.

• Pakhi