Blades of grass

Blades of grass,
Holding onto the soil;
Spectators see no sweat,
no signs of toil,
The harsh winds blow,
And the mighty rivers flow,
But the adamant green grass,
Refuses to budge.
Foolishness or faith,
You are free to judge.

Some call it foolishness;
It can tread a new boulevard,
sit with the roses;
Or bask in the backyard,
And strike poses!
Then why does it
sustain all the pain?
Why doesn’t it look
For some fun, some gain?

Some call it faith,
Should it really tread paths;
While soil nourishes it?
Though it cracks the soil,
The soil holds it!
True that there is toil,
There is an everyday struggle,
To survive the constant tussle,
But it prefers to built its roots.
On righteousness and truth,
The soil is its protector,
Against the mighty abductors.

Hey dearhearts! Thank you for reading. Though I never share my writings with anyone except you guys, but my mom secretly saw it this time. I would like to share what she said:

You are the roots,
God is your soil,
Now go eat the fruits,
Reap the benefits of your toil.

By fruits, she literally meant fruits, she had got my favourite black plums  πŸ˜›πŸ™ƒ

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33 thoughts on “Blades of grass

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        1. Maybe orange is the new black R, but for me, black is the new orange…! πŸ˜‰
          And how I wish I could let you know that some oranges don’t spoil, don’t turn black!
          By the way, looks like someone is stalking my comments section πŸ˜› πŸ˜‚πŸ˜›

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