A Small Piece Of Stone

A hill stands nearby very stout An egoist lord not far away still exists A man from the village cannot bear any more Humiliation, insults, suppression, torture So he with staggering feet goes and prays Begs with moistened eyes and in low voice cries To him no one listened to, no one to stand by Helpless he feels and a weary sense grip in The river, the air, the grass of meadows The clouds of the sky and the stars of the heaven All make him feel that he is nothing but nothing Stone rolls, rolls are the dew drops on the blades of leaves So are the waves of streams and tide of time If anything remains, remain are those pain and sorrow No sun in life yet rises its head, the hopelessness From the belly frustration sprouts out like seed And flows like flake over the top of the hill He cracks; he is crashed, dashed and thrashed In anger he picks up a small piece of stone And forcefully he throws it towards the hill He sees the smoke first then he sees the fire For a while he could not understand the magic Could not understand the wonder he had done Now he realises he is fully free and fully capable No more the pricking pride of the lord hovering around He had cracked up and burned down the mighty with a small stone.