Immersed in the song of my groove,
picking fruits of slender green plants
blooming in the well soaked soil,
sifting flour for lively little treats,
I caught my silken hair brushing my elbows.
They lean against my back until
I wrap them up along with the
ho – hum chores at night
in a velvety, maroon band
and find them longer, friskier the next day.
Me and my short hair swayed freely
before the world froze of bizarre, deadly events
that lived only in my imagination till
today when my long hair tickle me
in these abrupt, ghoulish times.
I can see the Ursa minor
anchored to the sky above my head,
I can see the small seeds turn to old plants,
I can see my hair grow till
my arms and palms and fingertips.
How long has it been?
paridhij 