Blooming from the Mud

I read a book about India called "The White Tiger" an excellent book, I cannot praise it enough. This poem is inspired by that dark dark book

Lotus

I feel the liquid mud,

sucking me under.

Its vacuum stifling my movement,

and I work the rice paddy all day.

The water streaming, the sweat dripping,

Liquid heat in the wet season,

and stuck, I am slowly drowning,

and I work the rice paddy all day.

yet I keep my head up,

I keep my black-hole eyes fixed

on the azure skies,

on the winged ones and the billowy white travelers

who fly far away from here,

while I work the rice paddy all day.

Father is dead now

and mother is dying,

soon my roots will be torn,

my legs will be free to run,

far away

I will keep my head up,

and out of this filth I will rise

and like a lotus,

I will bloom,

I will bloom