When you sprinkled the dew drops

This poem is the expression of a plant.

When a seed is nurtured well, it grows up into a beautiful plant. But when the person, who helped instill the life in that little seed wants to drift away, what does that plant, wrenching in pain, wishes to become? Here it goes…..

When you sprinkled the dew drops
you didn’t know
there lied a seed buried deep
under the wraps of the soil.

When you sprinkled the dew drops,
you didn’t know
that the seed – dry, dying
cocooned in its tough shell
got the moisture of the droplets
which you just let go.

As a pitcher overflowing with water,
as a heart overwhelmed with love
would shower it on anyone
that comes its way.

When you sprinkled it , you surely didn’t know.

When you levelled the wet soil
you didn’t know
you will fill the seed with desire –
to break free from its pea like mould,
to get a feel of the hand which gave it life.

As you sat close by, watching with tenderness
filling its heart with unexplainable joy
the plant grew and buds bloomed!

Raising its arms, and swaying in joy,
the plant stood looking at the sky
thanking for the life bestowed on it
when it thought, it was left with no more ;
thanking for the happiness showered on it
when it thought it didn’t deserve any more.

While it thought, it was a serene calm
that has blessed its existence,
it was the screeching silence of
nobodyness around it…..

And the sad and limp, little plant murmered :

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“As the days passed, so did the ecstasy
and suddenly, like a hasty traveller
you just got up to go past me ?”
“Or is it the sand storm that scared you?
is it the evil ways of the winds
that made you change your path?”

“But, now, I only wish I grew up as a cactus
I would have stored in me
(in my ugly stout body)
the rustle of your voice
the warmth of your breath
the sweeping touch of your eyes
the spark of your being
the frangrance of your soul
and that one fleeting moment of love.

I wish I was a cactus,
cursed to live without its life fluid
yet grounded, standing stiff, proud of itself,
with thorns all over : the branches shrunk with pain,

I wish I was a cactus
for I would have dwelled forever
on the dew drops sprinkled on me
without looking up at the sky again
as it hardly rains in desert,
as it hardly ever rains in desert.

When you sprinkled the dew drops
I am sure, you didn’t know that.

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Desh Kapoor

The panache of a writer is proven by the creative pen he uses to transform the most mundane topic into a thrilling story. Desh - the author, critic and analyst uses the power of his pen to create thought-provoking pieces from ordinary topics of discussion. He writes on myriad interesting themes. Read the articles to know more about his views and "drishtikone".

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