A little water trickled down a little pipe
Left leaning by the wall when the roofers
Had laid the guttering. It went along
The earth, asking until it was needed.
Now
There is a little green thing there, hardly
A plant, come of a seed which lay in wait,
And whether it has leaves or feathers or
Wings, I must wait to discover.
It is
Not a green I care for: not a green I use
In crayon, or in cloth: too rich, too loud
With treasure, too pleased with itself.
How
They’d laugh, the harvesters outside
In the fields damp with paddy, their fingers
Clutching goodness, if I showed them such a yield!
The land is rank with rice this year, the price
Is down.
And so this little greenling sits
In the sun, satisfied with itself,
Whatever it is.
Whatever it is,
It cannot make things as they are any worse,
And nobody is the poorer for its pleasure.
Excerpted with permission from First Infinities, Vijay Nambisan, Poetrywala.
This selection is curated by Rohini Kejriwal. She also curates The Alipore Post, a daily newsletter stemming from a love of art, poetry, music, and all things beautiful.
