I am the bud!

I am the leaf

That murmurs silently among its thousand sisters
While a raging storm tries to uproot the tree.

I am the bough

That is weighed down by the load of many dead branches
Yet sticks it out in the dead hope of a living future.

I am the root

That knows the ground is slowly turning into a morass
But also that uprooting myself holds the promise of death.

I am the bark

That has endured the love messages of a thousand torn lovers
Who have never come back to embrace me again.

I am the sap

That is aware of the slow poison that intolerance is injecting in me
Turning me into a river of silent, seeping, seething hate.

I am the flower

Whose lovely colours bring to shame the flowing plume of a peacock
Yet whose scents are as intoxicating as those of plastic.

I am the trunk

That sits smug in the belief that it holds the world aloft
While dogs find it “convenient” and termites burrow through its veins.

I am the fruit

That hangs every season in the hope of ripening to my juicy potential
But is plucked away mid-term for a quick and dirty trip to the market.

I am the tree

Of a thousand failed promises, a million shattered dreams
Of a sickening sense of inconsequence, a destined decay of value
Of a hopeless cacophony of fears, a senseless competition of worth
Of many topsy-turvy twists of fate, many entanglements of pain.

Yet…

I am also the bud

That springs to life in a daily ritual of renouncement followed by love
For living a new tomorrow, for giving a new hope to the forest around me.