Dandelion

Free Verse

Photo by Herbert Goetsch on Unsplash

There is a barren hill-shaped clod
burned by the sun or swollen with the rain.
All around
nature
invaded man’s
hand
for once.
Flickering dandelion to the wind,
overblown corollas
of an inflorescence
pretending to be a daisy,
swinging and dry stalks
too grown-up indeed.
Even the cement of that hut
In the middle
is parched and burns.
A few steps away
it is there with
a pile of stones
and broken bricks.
The rusty fence
supporting
A green and wild
hedge from the
other side of the barricade.
On the top, a transparent tank
held on by aluminium plates
straight
like poisoned spindles.
At the entrance a half-opened
gate inviting
to come in
whoever wants to;
to make their way
within the ugly
weeds asking
just to be looked after.
An ode
to life
ripping
bit by bit
every single day.