What is grass?

A child once asked me, ‘what is grass?’

And all I did was smile at him, with an unapologetic loss of words

Sweating as the sun’s heat blended in with the curiosity building inside me, getting vast

Contemplating how cavernous is, this unearthly world

The plethora of green dominating the fields,

Every blade holding an ounce of mystic drop

When the sky shatters and lets out all its grief

It’s the grass that succours the tears as it all eventually comes to a stop

As I stare into the depth of this prospect, wondering

How does she do it so easily?

The rain, the wind, the worms, rivals all over pondering

But she welcomes them with a hug as warm as the song of a cricket singing cheerily

And then comes the hour of war

You see, when its time for harvest, she has no control

Bleeding, as he blemished her leaving all those scars

Not a single drop of tear she let roll.

Rather sprouting out afresh, in all her glory.

Extracting out every fragment, every spot of life distinguishable,

And revamping it, as her eyes sparkle and she paints a ray of sunshine all over her face.

I see her soul in that smile when she shone in the bright sun, unveiling her triumph, every ounce vindicable.

The child stood in awe, scrutinizing this deep secret,

‘I didn’t think it to be so astonishing’, he said

And I just laughed it off, putting his thoughts to a cut

Easing him out, as I replied, ‘Oh, no. It is just what helps the cows get fed.’