I beg your pardon, I'll take my leave

For I have to graze my hungry sheep

As my head has lost all its moisture

And the field of my mind is barren

Rains are plenty but they are either-

Invisible or mixed with acid,

Now my sheep spit after eating me,

Every part of the herder I am

But now I have found a better place

A place where grows not grass but large trees

With roots till hell and branches heaven

And trunk as wide as a slave's master

I haven't seen of course, but I've heard,

That this green tree in a greener field

Grows on a head that the world calls wise,

I don't see, feel, sense but I believe

I'll let my sheep eat the tree's fungus

And lick the fruits for Sunday special,

But I will not borrow its seeds,

I have my own that will remain so

I thank the mind that's probably wise

'cause many else come there to graze their sheeps

(I have my seeds that await a drop

But I do not let the clouds to form

Because I am made to believe that

Foreign winds will blow the rain bringers,

Like I import iron from far lands

When unlooted gold mines do exist

Within my soul)

but I'll take my leave

For I have to graze my hungry sheep...

~Ajay
28/10/17