Mowing The Right Way

By Nishtha Srivastava

Moo, the sound so loud you hear, approaching,

Caress with care, She happens to offer wherever dwelling.

She, The Cow, The Mother, fights with pounds,

Pounds of love, sacrifice, selflessness, with pride of rounds.

A Cow is divine whatever may be the look out,

Yearns a solitude for self and the one in her world, now out.

What an amaze! She feeds passionately first hers,

Thereafter only, she cares for the on- way green perks.

In nature, she is naturally built with nature,

One of persistence and consistence to cater.

These when imbibed into the soul, a person,

Elevates to come up on stage and find of himself a new version.

No! No amongst, from now a coming carp,

But! From now a voice, an intriguing harp.

With the lyrics, exhibiting a crystalline sphere,

Of beats closing down on notes as a souvenir.

Mowed when the grass, is when we adapt to clear atmosphere,

However, organized chaos of anger is what we mostly fear.

Causing ruckus in our life's vehicle, which we try,

Balancing with our original and innermost cry.

Hence, better we not let mow down our dreams in the processes,

Else, it might, you not find the sincere self in the race of successes.

The Goal, the dream is a skill not to be killed,

Rather, to be acquired, removing from what today you are grilled.

By Nishtha Srivastava