Moss Poem by Bidyarnab Das

The north wall of our building
Never gets sun.
So it grew moss instead.

Green, stubborn, quiet.
It doesn't ask for permission.
Doesn't care that it's "just a wall"
Behind the water tank.

Rain comes. It gets brighter.
Summer hits. It shrinks but doesn't die.
I touched it once.
Cold. Alive. Like earth's version of skin.

Everyone wants gardens.
Moss just wants a corner
That nobody else claimed.

I think I understand it.