The (not so) Solace Tree

For a long time It thought It Faced it; It thought perhaps It was Brave to do that,

not aware that It Buried it; not aware it was not the Past that was Buried.

But the Seed that was Sowed and now that has Grown into a huge Tree;

Oh have the root taken into a harder form?

The Charm of Fantasizing is similar to teleportation; concealing the temporal and spatial plane.

Building the nest with the birds, hiving along the bees, trekking the Mt Kilimanjaro, rafting against the water, cycling through Alps, skiing through Mt Everest.

But the fantasies of Teens were unconsciously Filtered out; whether concealed or buried or perhaps never existed?

The Beautiful intimacy shared with That One; the sweet nothings, the late night pings, silly well thought memos; that rushed in tones of butterfly in depth of the gut;

with an icing of bizarre emotions as well.

Alas! The intimacy did not last for long; left with the drippings from the honeycomb.

The Grief was not about the Split; In fact niether rage nor remorse, but a confusion about Lacking.

Suddenly the Hidden lay Bare on the Ground; the green algae sticking out.

The Past came down Stripping the Muses; fused with a frozen allay.

The one Sowed, now awkwardly blows with the hurricane, but the roots stubbornly holding the earth.     

It believed that it was Reflected Courageously; perhaps eroded to the depth.

Instead unknowingly It took refuge under the tree of Its past hauntings.

The long withering branches; the strings of dried leaves; the trunk bloating out of the bark,

reminded It of Its kinder intimacy that took a brutal turn.

What was a mere childish innocent play with a lark; but its claws turned out to be of the Vulture.

The Grabbing, the innocent thought was part of the Game; like a squealing squirrels jumping around the branches.

but the Fondling and Touching looked like Gambling; like a whirling worms feeding on the leaves.

The roots peeking out, the vain attempt of bark to shield.

It felt the heart cringe; a weird shallow ditch of emotions in Its stomach.

Its breathe almost muffled; eyes welled up in a pool of water; It smelled like toxic.

Desperately holding the mane, It ran away from the monster.

It took sometime to gather Its pieces to figure out that encounter.

After ages It realized It is still holding the pieces together; in fact now the roots prop in support of the tree’s base.

Finally It caught Hold of the Root; whether firm or lose.

It have stopped Watering it anymore; Stripped it off, as happens in the autumns.

It took a Step Away from the Tree; surprisingly the Root began to Lose its Ground.

Well, at this moment it looks hazy long miles, may be a mirage.

But It carries hope to Rise from the Ashes; to Avenge the Brutal Wishes.

It sees the Wings of Fire flies bare; such sights are often rare.

Oo! the Solace Tree; the turf now swell free.

The Heart, hushed a joyous leap; pausing for fruits to reap;

flowers to bloom; fairies to loom.