I kiss the soil,
I kiss the wind,
I kiss the soul,
I smell the mint.
I plant thou seeds,
the chamber of mortality
though I am stuck myself,
wandering in charity.
I cry, I play
I fight, I slay.
I love the day,
though I know it won't stay.
I feel the kiss,
the reply via wind.
I sense the soul
of one that stings.
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Author:
Nk (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: December 7th, 2025 12:24
- Comment from author about the poem: planting seeds even while carrying your own heaviness is something to me.. very supreme..
- Category: Nature
- Views: 5
Offline)
Comments1
Planting a garden I pull the weeds and some are nettles that sting. Taking care of a garden whether literal or metaphorical is a hard and often painful task.
yet we do it even if stings and weeds are all the garden grows. Thanks.
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