top of page
Search

Life Against Death: The Metaphor of Grass in the Poetics and Politics of Resistance


Yellow flower in front of dark, jagged ruins; seeds drift in swirling brown-red clouds, creating a contrast of hope amid desolation.
Illustration by Anviksha Bhardwaj

Just as the ceasefire was announced between Hamas and Israel, the internet was flooding with videos of Palestinian children rejoicing, dancing all jolly. The streets of Gaza were full of people celebrating in unison as the 15-month-long indiscriminate Zionist aggression was to come to an end. Amid this, I came across a post on X (formerly Twitter) by Motasem Dalloul—a Gaza-based journalist engaged actively in reporting the genocide—in which he shared a picture of Dandelion blooming out of the rubble in the journalist’s garden. 


As beautiful as it seemed, I was immediately struck by the literary metaphor of flowers, or even plants and grass, for life and resilience. The metaphor of grass, flowers, and seeds frequently appears in literature, especially poetry—sometimes as a political statement or merely a literary fancy. It is quite fascinating how flowers and grass, physically fragile, foster an imagery of resilience and revolution.


Colorful flowers, including yellow, orange, and pink blooms, with green stems against a blank background.

In the backdrop of the ravages unleashed by World War I, Carl Sandburg penned down his poignant poem “Grass,” which quite explicitly embraces its political nature. The poet personifies the grass by assuming his place in the poem as grass and proceeds to lament the devastations caused by the war.


“Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.

Shovel them under and let me work—   

I am the grass; I cover all.

And pile them high at Gettysburg

And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.

Shovel them under and let me work.

Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor:

What place is this?

Where are we now?

I am the grass.

Let me work.”


Carl’s poem has been subjected to varying interpretations throughout history, but a common reading suggests that grass here signifies the repeating cycle of life and how it ultimately overshadows death. By extension, many interpretations have argued that all in all, the poem indicates how humans refuse to learn lessons from the past and delve into forgetfulness as grass covers up the dead, metaphorically covering the deaths of people themselves with a mask of forgetfulness. 


Avtar Singh Sandhu—famously known as Paash—has been one of the leading figures in the contemporary legacy of resistance poetry in India. From student movements to the anti-CAA protests of 2019, his poetry has been at the forefront of almost all the anti-regime protests breaking out in India. In his poem “Grass,” Paash offered a breakthrough reinterpretation of Carl’s poem.


“...Bomb a university

turn a hostel

into a heap

of rubble

break the roof

of our huts 

over our heads

but what’ll you do with me

I am grass

I grow on anything

and everything


Destroy Banga

erase Sangrur

reduce Ludhiana to dust

but green blades of grass

will continue to grow

and after two years … ten years

passengers will once again ask the conductor

‘What is this place?

Drop me at Barnala

where dense grass grows.

I am grass

I will do my work

I will always grow

wherever you are

whatever you do.”


Paash uses 3 stanzas as it is from Carl but adds his own context and understanding to the poem, which stands commendable. What doesn't change in the poem is the constant personification and anaphora of grass and the author(s) assuming their position as that of grass itself. From merely being a metaphor for life and novel beginnings in Carl’s work, grass becomes a metaphor for resilience, the inevitability of the revolution, and the immortality of the poet (read: revolutionary) when employed by Paash. The trait of grass being something that grows on its own without any intentional effort from the ‘outside’ and its ability to grow despite great destruction is something that is primarily utilised by the revolutionary interpretation by him. 


Through the process of re-contextualising, the poet leaves little space for varying interpretations of the poetics and essence of his work. One can understand the primary metaphor and the essence of the poem from the first read itself as he makes the metaphor unapologetically visible through his lucid elucidations throughout. Here, the grass no longer serves as a mask covering and fading the misery of people and plunging it into the act of erasure of history—in lieu, grass becomes a symbol for life and revolution in itself, as it is impossible to annihilate grass; it grows again and again from debris, from death, and from wherever it wishes to. It functions no longer as a passive emblem of life and renewal but as an active symbol of defiance. Therefore, we find that it was through Paash’s adaptation that grass became an active symbol of political resistance fuelling people’s revolutionary spirit despite Carl’s usage of the same metaphor in 1918. 


Paash’s work, although being literarily close to Carl Sandburg, appears to be essentially closer to Pablo Neruda’s popular quote, “You can cut all the flowers, but you cannot keep Spring from coming.” The metaphor in Neruda's quote takes one step forward and emerges in the form of Spring; immediately maturing from a passive resemblance of life in individual capacities to collective resistance in the face of oppression. In a similar nature of metaphors, the usage of seeds also appears in the work of Dino Christianopoulos, a Greek poet. He wrote in 1978:


“what didn’t you do to bury me

but you forgot that I was a seed” 


Originally written in the context of Dino’s poetry being criticised by others in the literary community, the couplet later landed a popular resonance among the masses when Mexican activists used the phrase in 2014 during the protests against the mass kidnappings of 43 students from Iguala. The popular couplet experienced some changes to accommodate a more collective enthusiasm and was then recognised widely as “They Tried to Bury Us, They Didn’t Know We Were Seeds”.


Since then, movements across the world have used this phrase to highlight their resilience amidst the escalating state violence in numerous instances. Amidst the Arab Spring, when the people of Egypt were caught up in relentless resistance against authoritarianism for the establishment of a better democratic structure, Pablo Neruda’s couplet was spray-painted on the walls of Cairo by Bahia Shehab, an Egyptian art historian.


Since Carl Sandburg’s political use of grass as a metaphor for life, and its popularisation by contemporary poets and activists, the symbolism of seeds, grass, plants, and flowers as emblems of resilience and revolution has transcended poetry. Once confined to literature, these metaphors have taken root in political struggles, embraced by those resisting oppression across geographies and histories. When words and symbols embed themselves in the collective consciousness, they cease to be mere poetic devices and become acts of defiance—etched into slogans, painted on walls, and woven into the very landscapes of resistance.



Such slogans and literary metaphors find their way into real-life struggles because they offer what the oppressed indispensably need: hope, optimism, and the revolutionary spirit to persist against all odds. In Gaza, where all of life remains under the continuous threat of unprecedented aggression of the Zionist entity, a flower blooming out of rubble becomes a living symbol of the unmatched resilience of the people resisting one of the most technologically equipped occupations of the imperialist tradition. The metaphor of flowers, grass, and seeds transforms into an act of resistance and revolution—one that refuses to wither despite relentless destruction. Gorakh Pandey captures this defiant spirit in his poem:


“...Palestine is a rose

growing from blood and iron;

A never-wilting rose

Which will finally bloom,

On your grave.”


(Translation from Hindi: Adrija Choudhary)


Here, the imagery of a rose blooming from blood and iron parallels the Palestinian struggle—one that persists despite overwhelming violence, refusing to be uprooted. Just as Paash reclaims grass as an unbreakable force of resistance, Pandey’s poem envisions Palestine itself as a flower that will outlive its oppressors. 


It was after Israel’s airstrike on Gaza in 2014 when a Palestinian woman planted a garden near her son’s death site in Ramallah with flowers placed in the tear gas canisters used by the Israeli forces. 


Such an act takes the form of invincible perseverance when one reads from D’Arco’s report that the Gazans went from exporting 80 million flowers worldwide in 1998 to having only 100 small flower farms in 2008 because of the bombardments and blockades unleashed by the Israeli occupation. The erstwhile family farm in northern Gaza once enchanted with chrysanthemums, carnations, roses and other flowers has now been reduced to debris and bits by the Israeli bulldozers and bombs. Flowers, grass, and seeds then become the forces of life fundamentally in resistance against the forces of death.


“....We count again our

bombed homes,

skies, hours, prayers,

promises, flags,

trinkets, morsels, wait.

We lose count again of your

airstrikes, mortars, missiles

DIME bombs.

We count again our dreams,

olives, flowers,

clenched fists, our feet marching.

We give birth to your destruction

every time we make love—

you count.”


~ Uzma Falak, ‘Summer in Gaza’

(written after Israel's airstrike on Gaza in 2014)





Edited by Eshal Zahur

Illustrations by Anviksha Bhardwaj


Vansh Yadav is a student of Sociology at Ambedkar University, Delhi, and a columnist at Political Pandora. His areas of research interests include history, fascism, urban studies, and caste.


 

Disclaimer


Any facts, views or opinions are not intended to malign, criticise and/or disrespect any religion, group, club, organisation, company, or individual.

This article published on this website is solely representative of the author. Neither the editorial staff nor the organisation (Political Pandora) are responsible for the content.


All illustrations in this piece are original works created exclusively by the Design Department of Political Pandora.


These illustrations are protected and are not available for replication, reproduction, or redistribution in any form without explicit written consent from Political Pandora. Unauthorized use, including but not limited to copying, modifying, or redistributing, is strictly prohibited.


Photographs in this particular article are taken from external sources and are not a property of Political Pandora. The use of these images are not meant for commercial purposes.


While we strive to present only reliable and accurate information, should you believe that any information present is incorrect or needs to be edited, please feel free to contact us.


 

References:



Keywords: Palestine Resistance, Gaza Conflict, Political Metaphors, Poetry of Resistance, Grass as Symbolism, Flowers and Revolution, Seeds of Change, Oppression and Resilience, Palestinian Struggle, War and Poetry, Metaphors in Literature, Defiance through Art, Symbolism in Protest, Poetic Resistance, Literature and Revolution, Grass in Poetry, Seeds as Metaphor, Hope and Struggle, Flowers in War, Poetry of Defiance.


Join the 
Pandora Community

Join Political Pandora! We offer exciting opportunities for passionate youth.

 

Publish your work on a global platform with an engaged audience, often cited in academic research. Your voice matters—be part of the conversation!

bottom of page