On War and Peace
Maa, it is summer again!
For the dandelions to fill your yard.
Speckles of white swathes the meadow,
Quietly rolls down the dale,
Where a turquoise river murmurs an alpine tune.
I sit on the bed of greens
My tiny, slender fingers fondle the swards,
Passionately plucking dandelions
I swish its seed heads
And they whizzed afar
To a distant land I dare not call mine
I close my eyes
To make a dandelion wish
But still, a few tufts stick
Waiting for a second turn
Just when…….
Maa, I hear footsteps
Drubbing through your garden
Trudging through the dandelions, they march by
They are bigger than I
Their knuckles are strong and
Gnarled, holding a long gun
Their face stitched with a pledge
Eyes gulping tears, still burning bright
Attire spilling muck
Maa, they say –
They come to protect you and me
From someone as same as them and us
From a land that grows this identical grass
Maa, they say, they love you
As much as I do, or maybe even more.
They have no time to pluck a dandelion or two
To blow it or make a wish, and for it to come true.
Marching ahead, he looks back at me
A beam of hope streaks through him
He smiles and says – ‘your dandelions will grow forever,
For you to make a wish or two
Or three and many more.’
He soon careens away.
Carrying my wishes,
A tuft of dandelion hair
Befriends his outfit.
Maa –
My second wish awaits its turn,
On the extant dandelion feathers
I now huff hard, freeing the wisps
Into the air, blowing abundantly
Across the land where he and his comrades
Stands stoutly guarding my dandelions.
And I whisper my wish softly,
It brushes the blue, touches the heaven:
Soldier, I wish you a safe return home
To the lawn where your dandelion awaits your wish!
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