The Scheme of Things

At the traffic signal, I crawl up Next to my friend's Mercedes My thirty-three year old scooter Hardly one-fourth its length.

My friend, his business worth crores Puts down his Blackberry on the table Beside my five-year old Nokia, Scratched, scarred, and shoddy.

He hugs me, his cologne- laced shirt Wrinkles its nose At my faded cotton - It tries to hide the button-less hole.

He said how, one day He had this vision of a huge Banyan-like tree Ants marching, monkeys jumping Birds singing Children playing, plucking fruits.

He talks about his mission About the five thousand acre arid land Turning it green, growing organic cotton. He talks about his company Employees more than five thousand About his effluent treatment plant Where, even the sludge, bacteria-treated Lets onions bloom beneath the soil.

My friend's arm thrown over my shoulder I remember how I once saved his life From drowning in the river.

Osho says do not compare Accept the you you are. I guess I have to accept That Giant Redwoods And coarse grass as well Have their own places in the grand scheme of things.