And the petrichor of monsoon
Comes from little corpses
Fossilized in the dark gaps
Amid the green grassy pasture.
when they die, the grass flowers,
The unknown tiny worms & ants
Never worry of heaven or hell.
Such self reliant selves worth so much
As their fragrance out of their dead shell.
Rain baptizes them, redeems them too,
Death, a mere occasion, beneath a shoe.