The Bud

The Bud

The bud seeing the flowers around

said to herself,

“I am also blooming!

Like all, I will also grow!

I may even be really beautiful.

For I know I belong to the “lovely flowers”

But, when I look at others’

I do wonder,

If this was all I was meant to be?

Can I not be ….”

 

And just then,

the flower looks at the bud and thinks,

“Ah! Those were the days!

Now I wait, only to wither,

My petals away.

But as a bud, I was so happy.

All I have now is wait.. and some fear!”

 

And the plant said,

“have i not survived many a buds and roses,

and thorns?

Each being a part of me!

And they never recognised,

all that I go through

for them to grow!

Ah! I also get noticed because of them!

But, they are that part of me

which blooms and withers.

And there is that part of me, which is to protect them while they grow.

I hold them both equally, for them to bloom!”

 

And the soil said,

“in me all exists.

what you see on the surface is,

because I exist.

All the many plants, the trees…

are all me!

Yet this plant does not recognise me?

But, I protect it while it grows

by holding strong its roots.”

 

And the water said,

“Oh soil!

you do not recognise me.

Where I soak you, there you let the plant thrive.”

 

And the fire said,

“Oh water!

If I do not

collect you from the oceans,

you would not soak the soil?”

 

And the space said,

“Oh fire! I accommodate you.

So you are able to collect water high up in the skies.

 

And the water said,

“wait, I let you collect me,

I surrender,

when you come to collect me.”

 

And the soils said to the water,

“wait water! I surrender when you come to soak me, drench me.”

 

And the plant said,

“wait soil,

I surrender my seed and exert to grow upwards;

propelled by the rays, perhaps of the Sun, I am told.”

 

And the bud said,

“I can only surrender to what fate has for me!

I wait to grow like the flower next to me, I see.”

And the flower said,

“but I wait only to wither…

or wait in fear!”

 

And they all sat and thought and discussed openly,

and wondered, “for whom does all this happen?

whose will is it, that we express?”

 

And as the discussion was escalating,

A child came and plucked the flower which

was then talking.

And all went silent!

Wondering now, what this child will do with the flower?

Was this the end of the journey for all?

 

© Deepti Vishwanath

(Photo from web)

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