Crushed grass

The smell of crushed grass on her hands
took her back in time
to where a girl sat cross legged near a bear cage
its wild stench a bit more stronger
than her grandpa’s breath
kissing her cheek each morning
She sat there tugging at the green grass
which sometimes cut her tender fingers
collecting dry leaves into small piles to pass the time
waiting for the man who fed the peacocks
to muster up courage enough to ask him for a feather
The warm afternoon watched and wept
as a childhood wish disappeared into the arms of lust

©Reena Prasad 18th Feb 2013

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