I am the creeper,
without the spine.. relentless for support
to grow, to flourish and let myself breathe the air
which, as I have heard. is so fresh,
from the mouths of those tall proud trees,
who take shame to look down,
to answer to my silly queries
I sit nowhere in comparison to them,
And as soft as I am, I feel the sense of guilt,
for having to take their support all my life,
as I curse the Lord for making me so weak..
And henceforth, I bend myself to all the forces,
to all the sufferings they want to inflict-
since that I what I deserve,
in return for what I have to unwillingly give them,
all my life.
I lean alone, lost in thoughts,
bearing that fragrance, only to be crushed
beneath the feet of the lazy crow,
sitting in the branch of my supporter..
..Or whatever you want to call him,
For to me, he is the Lord, for not speaking up
in spite of my advances.
Though when I reach to the top, I realise,
the wind is harsh and so is the trunk
And so is the mouth of that tall tree rude,
And all my life, seems just a lie
For taking all evils as thy luck.
Yet I am so patterned in its trunk,
It seems not possible to escape,
and all my wishes to start a new life
bereft of the pride perishes,
goes down, in vain..
as I continue to knowingly hurt myself
caught beneath the harsh clenches,
knowingly, but my luck in vain..
