The seeds in my backyard have started sprouting.
Slowly yet steadily.

I don’t know how they gathered the courage to open their eyes,
yet there they are
showing their presence,
marking their territory,
awaiting the climb.

Against the atrocities,
obnoxious obstacles,
slithering tentacles,
crawling and creeping like weeds
which grope and gape
past the line of control
masquerading to protect
persuading to uplift
thorning their way inwards
to feast on the nutrients
without hesitation.

Alas, the saplings stand unafraid,
brave like soldiers in armour,
with the firm determination of growing, and
spreading their branches
strengthening their roots
savoring on the leftovers
while nurturing their bruises.

You see, they have hope for a better tomorrow.
It’s an assertion that induces ecstasy;
an oath they silently stand by
with a vision of fresh green leaves,
mighty trunks, majestic branches,
crimson flowers, golden fruits
and bearing elixirs of wisdom.

The seeds in my backyard have started sprouting.
Slowly yet steadily.
A sign of resistance.

Not so early in the morning,
when dawn rests on an armchair,
I wake up to the conch shells
of my mother screaming.
I hurriedly open the windows to my backyard,
examining the seeds that I planted last evening,
waiting for them to evolve into a magnificent tree
with branches as vast as the sky,
only to crawl into the rabbit hole.

I dig deep
to create the wonderland where lakes and rivers
don’t think much about flowing into the sea,
where forests are allowed to breathe,
where trees can grow without any fear,
where animals are not caged,
lands are not disputed,
borders are deceased.

In such a wonderland,
I shall breathe my last,
metamorphosing into a pile of leaves
returning to Nature’s bosom
composting and crawling
back into Her womb.