Grain and Husk

Divine Grace reaps the paddy-stalks of man’s being -

Ripe and swaying with leisure in the wind,

Lifting them high

She beckons them to the glory of the Sun,

Then in an orderly motion thrashes them

On the grindstone of his life

Raw grain shuns the hardened husk -

Of divisive habit endeared to its core,

Husk and grain fall off together -

The nascent grain’s first breath of life,

The grain still feels the husk as its own -

Separated only for a game of play

It joins hands with the husk,

Bracing its new reality with hesitant wonder

It ponders quietly its dual existence

Until Grace bends down to gather with her gentle hands -

Grain and its separated husk,

Throwing a song to the galloping Wind,

She asks him to drop by for a fleeting call

With delicate nudges of her hands

She tosses grain and husk in the air,

Grain and husk, side by side,

In an upheaval of newfound joy -

A graceful poetry in motion

Made timeless by the kiss of the Sun

Up and down, down and up,

Grain and husk stay a separated One,

Half assured by the play, half wondering,

The grain smilingly flinches at the Wind’s ticklish caress -

Overflowing from cheek to cheek in a mid-air whirl

With a peck on the grain’s cheek,

The Wind tides over with its off-currents,

Casting the husk to waft away

On its invisible, stretched arms

The grain quietens its boisterous play,

With backward, oblique stares

Sees off a distant husk,

Then with an assured novelty

Goes on to shine its golden hue