The earth
Earth, neither bound by any line,
nor contained in any word is compassion,
which remains ready to offer shelter even after every thunderbolt.
Earth not a geometric sphere,
but a living abode of memory,
a moist bosom on which life repeatedly rests its head, seeking rest.
Earth is an unfulfilled prayer beyond calculation,
which awaits its answer in every seed
It resides not in the void,
but in the heartbeat of humanity like a mother,
who lights a lamp every evening and
leaves the door open
Her silence is not defiance is a long vow of restraint
She doesn't speak because she is fulfilling a duty greater than speaking of sustenance and protection.
The earth is a mother,
and even after death,
it lets go like an unconditional embrace,
that holds life until its last tremor
Her greenery is not mere decoration
it is beauty born of tolerance,
which embraces heat and frost with a single sensitivity
When trees are cut, she doesn't protest
but chooses silence,
like the long silent penance of a sage,
who has absorbed every blow into her soul and gone beyond words.
Walking on the earth is a silent responsibility,
which asks each time
Have you come only to take,
or will you also give something back?
Touching the earth like touching a memorial stone is gratitude... or transgression
Nothing in between
There's still a pulse in the earth's heart,
but it's not one of joy—
of a burdensome responsibility,
which every time it has to shoulder silently.
We measured it, divided it,
cut it, sold it but never understood it.
The earth isn't merely something to be enjoyed
it's centuries of silent praise,
read not with the eyes, but with the heart
Whenever despair overtakes your mind,
walk barefoot on the green grass
or sit in the shade of an ancient banyan tree
You'll hear the earth still speaks,
not in words, but in sensation.
Thank you so much for reading. Have a great day 😊🙏 @vikbuddy
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