On thd dead grass

On the dead grass


On the recently unplugged bunch of grass,
Grass, green and still fresh smelling, retaining
Its aura, no, the grass is not dried or dead,
I could feel the kerb of the bunch,
for the gardener uprooted the stretch,
has unevened , the ground,
that ghostlike stories swell
one could weave and write lounging
Upon the topsy-turvy mound,

how often paramours would have
rested in even times to share their
ruffled up, anxiety ridden reflections,
how many inspirational writings
would have emanated from the
Constructive, creative minds of the
thinkers who think alike,
No,the people throng still,
The grass is not dead, it smells
Still Green and good.