The little bud is finding its way
On a fragile branch of the tree;
Rain, storm, heat, cold
Hit the main branch.
The bud is holding on,
The bud is shaking
With the fear of being useless,
With the fear of no future,
With the fear of dying.
And then a miracle happens!
It falls on the ground;
The soil embraces it,
Feeds it, nourishes it,
Gives it love.
And one morning,
The little bud sprouts
To a beautiful green shoot.
It looks at the bright green;
It senses the smoothness,
It senses the possibility
Of being a different tree.
The entire possibility of promise
Opens up in front of it.
This is nothing that it expected;
All this while, it thought
That it existed to
Hold on to the branch.
That’s what defined it;
The entire purpose of its existence.
In death, in failure, in falling
It got a new shape,
A new life,
A new beginning,
A future completely different and
Unexpected.
In letting go,
It found its being.
~
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