The seed.
The seed that was blown into a desert.
The seed that would have been a bloom.
Is it doomed?
Its silent longings were only answered by harsh heat.
A parched ground.
The seed longs.
It waits.
Asks for the longest for the desert to change.
But harsher heat it got in return.
The more it desired to be comforted,
The more despair it was returned.
Until it stopped questioning the desert.
But asked itself.
It flipped the begging bowl for sympathy upside down.
And reached down within.
It was amazed then.
Free from its prison of expectation.
It was filled with wellspring.
That he had longed.
Its flower did blossom.
It was inside his own oasis.
While writing this poem,
I had this in mind.
The fundamental promise of life is to always remain meaningful.
Yes,
Even in a desert.
In fact,
The desert repeatedly breaks your heart until it learns to remain open.
Stay blessed.
Aarav.
