Talking to Oneself With One's Ears to the Grass

I lie and lay my head upon the grass
And unwind the body hardened stiff like glass.
But the tiny blades tickle the lower ear
Making me ask myself, why do I bear
This crass impertinence and sink my head
Still further down its bed of prickly green?

To hear the pulse-beat of the labouring earth?
The movements of the life it holds within?
Its cries of passion? Its groans of pain?
The secret struggles in its inner veins?
The worms that chew its soil, the tunneling rats,
Crickets that chirp with shivering leg and wing?
The flipping open of the fat seed pods
To let the sprouts emerge?
The rustling flurry of the flying ants?

I am not sure.

extract from Talking to Oneself With One's Ears to the Grass,
from Poems. K. G. Subramanyan.

Seagull Books
isbn 8170463157
rs. 325
buy online