Little the plants were, growing in contaminated conditions
The air, the water, the earth, the sky; all unsuitable
But when I looked at them, they were still alive
Alive, with all expressions to suggest they are alive
When I looked at them in the morning with sunrise
They were waving in the gentle breeze,
Whistling with fresh passion and enthusiasm
Just like the early sunrise
To look at it is auspicious and healthy
But when I looked back later in the evening
The shoulders were dropping, the plants looked weary
The scorching heat of the sun had dried its enthusiasm
The sun it waited fir in the morning caused its distress now
The changed fortunes of the little plants
Anchored, my faith too for a while
Little the plants are, unplanted they are, unwanted they are
But still they survive; they still stand firmly rooted there
Where I first saw them
And that's what I learnt from these little plants today
They live with no care, no sympathy, no attention, no affection,
But yet they survive
For the hope of water, the hope of a morrow,
The hope of a reason to live…
