Writing after a long time. All the confusion, the emotions, the inadequacy. Never knew loneliness had depths beyond comprehension. Heightened by a yearning that is never to be. Just when I was finding my ground, I realise I want to fly. Cannot now. This hollowness, a void that is hard to describe. And so writing I resort to... once again.
Fallen
On the soft brown earth,
Drying, dirty, grounded
But beautiful still
In its own way
Just there
In its own ignorance
Fragrance fading
Wilting, half bloomed
Sometimes basking
In the sun,
Smelling the damp earth
Happy to be on the side
Content, ignorant
but wishing sometimes
For nothing in particular
Oblivious to
The life around
And just when
It thought it had
it all together,
It rained.
It saw how other flowers
Unplucked,
blossomed
Glowing, warm, bright
Full of life
In the drizzle
It saw in amazement
In awe
What could have been
If only it could
Feel the rain again
The way they could
Not superficial water
Washing dirt away
But fulfilling
From within
Rain, gushing through
The veins and stem
Of its being
It realised
what it could mean
To flourish
To live
To grow
To feel
the droplets, the breeze
The earth
The sun
All would have a different
Meaning
If only...
Now, it just sits there
On the sides
Slowly wilting
Yearning,
Wondering
Confused
Wandering
Alone
A realisation,
It never seeked
Or wanted
But
It knows now.
A realisation of
the true meaning of
Being
Incomplete.
