The Weed Garden
(I've often come across people who believe that evil keeps flourishing for a long time before it's destroyed. Does this elimination always occur, or is it just hopefulness on our part? This poem is my take on this thought through the eyes of a lonely sapling).
Trembling dizzily through June monsoon,
My lone sapling form endures the storm.
This playing field - an awaited boon,
Does pityingly now weep and mourn.
They came a day, long days ago,
Few in arms and friendly charms.
Did revere our hold on the land,
Staking their own without much ado.
The sun did shine, light and bright,
Bathing in canary glow so deep.
They hummed a deadly lullaby in spite,
Later known for us to seep.
Their glower, frown and conquest,
Hit us hard, starving and parched.
Sneering down on us as pests,
Onward smugly those foes marched.
Now the drizzle threatens to storm,
Fields are hollow, the omens abound.
Here I shiver in solitude form,
Solemn this dawn, few for me around.