a sight

 long grass with converging tip giving some

Space to brownish mud peeping here and there

Just when my sight could reach reddening sky

The field had already affirmed my beliefs

The bigger we become to the outside world

Narrower we become within ourselves

Our thoughts instead of accepting more diversity

Starts converging to our false pride

And the gleam in the eyes of the pride

Perhaps makes everything else secondary

But still often the filthy brownish mud

Tries to clean our vision but only to get  rejected.