I was made a bonsai.
I was a sapling who reached out to the sky with my arms, and shared my fruit with all.
I was shamed for the promiscuity of my little branches, and taught that the only way to survive, is to pot my roots, and shape myself, with a snip her, a burn there, till I became a perfect bonsai.
And if you wondered where my compassion went, this was all I had.
But life took me toward towering banyans, which did not mind the thousands of creatures that nestled in their loving branches,
And I realize I have the choice to break my pot, stretch my roots into mother earth,
And pass on her strength through my fruit.
I like this concept of Log b a = 0.
B cannot exist for any value of a other than 1, and when a is 1, b can be anything.
Poetic, aint it??
B says to A: If you aren’t the 1 for me, then I don’t care for you. But if you are the 1 for me, than I can be everything to you !!
Often, the poems we call beautiful
are not the ones with the most depth,
but the ones that reflect our own thoughts.
Same applies to intelligence and people.
As the days pass
I have learnt to see
Through a gaping hole in fabric,
A piece of blue sky.
Is it enough that I love you,
Or do I have to say I love you
On saying which, do I have to
Straddle the heaven and earth
And bring you a black orchid
As proof of my love?
I cannot give you anything
But my love. I can’t dance,
But I can arrange flowers.
I also know to watch out for
A Love that is too demanding.