In a station of the metro
Grandfather advised me
The Way:

This is just to say
Let us describe
The day lady died

In a restless world like this
Some trees

Lost among them somewhere
For fear and in awe
Lie great things unsaid

The Way

“This is getting harder now
I’m tired of trees and air and water
I despise nature as much
As it has abandoned me”

My belittling smirks anger him
He returns to his pages
For a bit and then his despair
Comes forth and submits

Beside the small blue lake
With white pages strewn about
His eyes towards mine
And my lips parted in speech

I remind him about
The Red Wheelbarrow