Tulsi 8
The stream is a bit muddy
The tillers have ploughed the land
You, growing on the road side
Do not care
Because my tears
Irrigate your roots
Every day
When I come to ask you
Why did you leave me
Like this,
A stone unbroken
Comes in the way, till
The tiller picks it up
And piles on a bund
I wish I was pulverized
Thoroughly
And so powdered
Would have become a speck of light soil
Flying with the breeze
Covering your leaves
Protecting them from unwanted
Visitors, insects or flies