Poets & Poetry

The seed

In the start, it was a mere seed,
Small, unprotected amidst the weed,
Its death not a day away,
Unable to survive in world with twisted ways.

The next week it was a proper plant,
Fighting to get its needs and everyday wants,
On a hopeless desolate hill it stood,
Between a canopy of shrunken wood.

The patch was covered with daisies, marigolds,
And other wild plants in countless folds,
Yet, it survived and continued to grow,
The plant’s meagre chances not making it low.

Its sight was as odd as it could be,
A unique creature striving to be free,
The little blueberry plant with all its might,
Trying to forget its worries in hope of light.

As the years grew by with a painful sigh,
With invaders come; the garden has to die,
Yet, my blueberry plant survived this plight,
Never giving up in life’s great fight.

Sometimes I come to my eternal friend,
Who helped me and taught me to fend,
And stand up even when I bleed,
And showed the power of a mere seed.