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Wheat Plants

Like soft green grasses we have grown,
Less than halve we have our self shown;
Our heads happily swaying in the air,
Physique painting fields in green color;
At the irrigation of the poor farmer,
We bloom a smile brim-filling in splendor;
Thanking him for tending us,
Feeding us; freeing us from clutches;
Like school-going children we sway,
Feeling free; yet we carefully keep away;
From sadness of the past and present,
Smiling and swaying and waving around;
Let sun shine hard or the moon soft,
Let the fog fall thick or snow shower oft;
Let untimely rain our naked body wet,
Let dewdrops in secret our shabbiness set;
Termites, aphid, weevil, beetle and moths,
Like social enemies let our cells swath;
Storms or tempests or hurricanes severe,
Let blow hard on us as though many a spear;
Goats graze on us; cows and buffalo too, 
Blue bulls, let, bring the worst of woe;
We’ll be never shaken or feel forsaken,
As our roots, in the mother earth, are waken;
Our convictions, like our roots, are firm,
To feed the farmer and his home kingdom;
Where his kids, like us, are growing,
And, like us, in joy and sadness glowing;
And to the wide world where the hungry,
Are waiting for grains to live poverty-free...

 07 December 2021 

Copyright © Christuraj Alex

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