An Odor From Cut Grass Poem by nimal dunuhinga

Among the withered grass
Poor Grasshopper struggles to fly
But the Lawnmower has borrowed
Her tiny wings without her willingness!
And I whisper to her of the catalepsy;
'Dear Hopper I too jumped so many hurdles in the past
But these feeble bony fingers won't grip
Even an ant now and how could I help you?
I feel your nagging pain and see the deep wound
We both are in the same capsized boat.
Your helpless chirp and my melancholy song
Never reach above and even though they hear
They do not like that friendly bargain.
Are you going to stop, please don't?
And we continue our fight
Until our fragile heart
Changes its usual beat! '

*Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.' -George Carlin