What The Hare Never Said Poem by Ullas R Koya

Dear Turtle,
Run slowly my dear friend,
I seek to rest here behind.
To run prodding back the earth-
a fate defined afore my birth.

‘My boy will run! My boy will jump!
My boy will always sprint to triumph!
He will ascend atop the hill!
Laurels a lot, attain he will! ’

Long been since the run began,
Unaware umpteen Christmas gone.
Time but vaguely passed on,
now nuzzling memoirs none I own.

Tomorrow
Tomorrow with axe will come a thug.
The blade heedfully honed for slug.
Mother tree will hit the ground.
Today let me hug the shade around.

The sun trickles in through leaves.
Let me savour the rays in ease.
Soon this roof will perforate
Rays will turn to darts of hate.

The grasses will be bridled down
with stone, tar then tolls upon.
Afore the road to future alight,
upon the green, a nap’s delight.

Breeze bearing the pure scent,
I don’t want to let a whiff alee.
Soon the wind will turn errant.
Breath’s foe, the breath will be.

I can
I can run at light’s speed,
or hop up over moon or mars.
Can always take the very lead.
Can align myself up to stars.

Can etch my name to history
Can be the noble memory.
But then…
Left with no memories, I shall be.
With no nuzzling memoirs, I would be.