When Roots Don’t Care About Where They Are

By Geethanjali Dilip

Under the earth’s undisturbed lap,

Where a million babies crawl smiling,

Their little toes digging into the soil,

Their dainty fingers doodling trails where evergreens would play sentinels,

Just their silent prattle barely heard by the world above, they keep playing,

They speak the language of mirth,

Tingling earth’s crust,

She keeps feeding them with whatever she has,

These babies are roots and they don’t really know who they are!

All they know is that they need to keep themselves together, holding hands, cuddling up like siblings,

For they bear the stories of loftiness pirouetting to touch heavens,

These roots don’t know their names,

They’d rather be toddlers letting forests stand on their togetherness,

Where clouds and mist would kiss leafy heads,

And flocks would sing their poetry to stars that still hear them,

When roots don’t care about who they are,

They just let forests evolve and life thrive,

As they listen to songbirds, the gurgle of forest brooks and the rustle of leaves.

By Geethanjali Dilip