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.

~