Standing amidst the lustre of voluminous green,
I held myself apart; yet
A desire to be like them crawls through my roots.
Rough, nodose, my stems;
Crave for benign calmness of the leaves.
One of the unlucky ones falls to the ground – touching me,
Benumbing my phloem for a fraction of second,
But, imprinting an everlasting tear on the trunk.
There isn’t anything I can give
Except my own raw self.
No blossoms, no shade, no nourishment,
Nothing, in the cold winter;
or in the stormy summer winds.
Nothing to lose in autumn,
Nothing to gain in spring.
(Should I be content due to this?
Because there is neither
obtainment nor relinquishment.
But, No, I am not gratified.
Because satisfaction is
the outcome of your
Winning a game when
you are about to lose it.
Both of them playing
their own crucial part.)
And I stand alone amidst
the voluminous green!