The Question II

did I put my finger
in many waters
and did the ripples spread
from the centre
to the edges
and wet the grass?

did the water
feed the grass
as it flowed over the
small thin blades, making
the difference
between life and death?

and did my hand 
touch any skin, make 
an impression that lasted 
amid the forceful 
pull and tug, the jostle 
of changing winds?

did any word 
that left my mouth 
and met the eyes 
of the person opposite 
go in, press in 
press home, and rise?

did the breath
I bore, and the days I
treaded, the creaking
boards in unison crying
my weight, inflate
any lung and limb but mine?

and did my fingering mind 
in its probing of 
small spaces, its easing 
of facts, its splicing light 
help any seed to germinate 
in the dark, and grow?
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