FARM

I pride myself on being lush and green,
As some farms, I have seen, have withered away.

When I am too stiff of sitting still,
I call upon the winds to ruffle me up.
And I raise my thousand hands and sway,
As if swaying towards eternity.

And when the rains too arrive,
My joy knows no bounds
And I sway and sway, never to cease.

As the rain adorns me,
It looks like tears of joy that stream down
And rest on the ground,
Nourishing me still.

But the water blurs my sight, I feel,
As I am unable to locate the sun in the sky.
Or is it the clouds keeping me from the light?

Well, it is not too long that I have to wait,
As the sun too can’t help but add
A little shine to my lavish life.

But the scarecrow in the midst doesn’t seem to be amused.
And I wonder how his expression remains unchanged – as if dead –
In this weather that can bring life
To the most lifeless of things!

Perplexed, I leave the scarecrow be,
And again sit to rest, to brood and muse,
About how I am so lush and green.

  • Pakhi