Brown may be my colour yet, my heart is still alive,
roots yet drink from the damp soil, my branches still do thrive.
All summer long I fought the blaze, yearning an ashen cloud,
not to see you eye my limbs, sharpened axes in the crowd.
I sense my moment has come at last, there’s moisture in the air,
stow your hatchets away I plead, soon greens my bough shall bear.
– Narendra Nayak © 2017
