A take after ( Guardian’s Bronze and blaze”
Whether I
was a grass or grasshopper,
Inadvertently
trampled or strewn
by crudity or agricultural norms
green
slowly turned to yellow
to be
effaced by the hasty hands;
I cannot predict
my past;
colors
and radiance I did not know
for my little life or lifeless, when man
takes upper
hand or nature’s calamity
striking
one and all; still hanging on roots
in soil
tuned by vagaries of weather.
How to be
sustained or how long?
North has an
appendage of luck
And flow, shine and glow,
air of salient aura
Passing through
my window
Enabling growth and glitter,
Somewhere
gunfire blows.
Warring deadly
prevails in man
In all
ages in all instincts,
Beyond redemption.
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