by

Though not a beauty,
it’s also a truth.
It doesn’t lose its serenity
in the material dream.
Stretching and contracting…
It moves
in the borderless world
as the purest pleasure pulsating in the soul.
The earth’s vibrancy reflects
in its move.
To live in soil
is a natural bliss.
I don’t think it discerns
it’s in the source of life and death.
Its service always remains unrecognized,
yet it never grieves.
When it writhes on a hook,
its pain pains no one.

First published in The Literary Hatchet.

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