By the time I met you, there were very few things left to share.
At the end of a long and arduous journey,
When even one's own body weight seems too much to carry,
Much like that ant pulling a long twig towards its corner, with its last bit of strength,
By then, I had to shed off all my hair to keep going.
When I met you, I hardly had anything to give, any more.
There was nothing more of me, than the last bits of me.
When you met me by the Bodhi tree,
You were looking for your roots.
And I, for my stem.
You wanted to go back to basics.
I wanted to make sure I still exist.
You wanted to bury yourself, so that, no one notices you.
You wanted to go deeper,
But the flying birds always caught your fancy!
They always did. Somehow...
Birds that dropped seeds near your roots.
And as they perched on your branches,
You got distracted. Briefly 'though.
You could not stop thinking about these birds,
Could not help asking about where they were headed,
You even contemplated a flight with them.
Or asking them to stay a while. Only a while.
In a brief moment of what you would call, weakness, you wanted to share.
But, thought it was better not to share it all, anyway.
You quickly regained (your) purpose and focused on the roots again.
You looked for water.
You spread your roots and reached the sky with your branches.
You looked for a river and some rain (or was it the birds that you were looking for)
at the same time,
Such was your thirst, you could not focus on one of them.
When I met you, I was not looking for sharing any more.
I did not have anything left to share.
I just wanted to stand up straight once again.
I wanted to believe I could do that.
Instead I started walking.
I started following you.
Limping, stumbling often, but walking all the same.
I wanted to follow your roots, go deeper with you.
It seemed I would find some water there too.
I was supposed to look for my stem but I walked all the same.
In the light and shadow of a warm evening, I followed you.
With a hand on my stomach.
Because, it hurt.
With a finger on my lips.
For, the words were about to slip out.
With gaze fixed on the ground. My eyes burned.
When we met, we had nothing but a place to share.
A location. Some geographical coordinates. Some history.
And some minutes that could be counted on our entwined finger tips.
Those were cut shorter by a moratorium.
The city was big and the baggage we carried was bigger!
These did not allow us to run faster.
But even if we did,
Could we have ran past the pre-decided finishing line?
What I understood as now.
What I thought of as constant.
What I knew as true.
What I wanted to be forever,
Changed in an instant.
It now requires me to begin again.
As I stand here groping for my stem,
I try to believe with all my might,
I can remain here.
Standing.
At the end of a long and arduous journey,
When even one's own body weight seems too much to carry,
Much like that ant pulling a long twig towards its corner, with its last bit of strength,
By then, I had to shed off all my hair to keep going.
When I met you, I hardly had anything to give, any more.
There was nothing more of me, than the last bits of me.
When you met me by the Bodhi tree,
You were looking for your roots.
And I, for my stem.
You wanted to go back to basics.
I wanted to make sure I still exist.
You wanted to bury yourself, so that, no one notices you.
You wanted to go deeper,
But the flying birds always caught your fancy!
They always did. Somehow...
Birds that dropped seeds near your roots.
And as they perched on your branches,
You got distracted. Briefly 'though.
You could not stop thinking about these birds,
Could not help asking about where they were headed,
You even contemplated a flight with them.
Or asking them to stay a while. Only a while.
In a brief moment of what you would call, weakness, you wanted to share.
But, thought it was better not to share it all, anyway.
You quickly regained (your) purpose and focused on the roots again.
You looked for water.
You spread your roots and reached the sky with your branches.
You looked for a river and some rain (or was it the birds that you were looking for)
at the same time,
Such was your thirst, you could not focus on one of them.
When I met you, I was not looking for sharing any more.
I did not have anything left to share.
I just wanted to stand up straight once again.
I wanted to believe I could do that.
Instead I started walking.
I started following you.
Limping, stumbling often, but walking all the same.
I wanted to follow your roots, go deeper with you.
It seemed I would find some water there too.I was supposed to look for my stem but I walked all the same.
In the light and shadow of a warm evening, I followed you.
With a hand on my stomach.
Because, it hurt.
With a finger on my lips.
For, the words were about to slip out.
With gaze fixed on the ground. My eyes burned.
When we met, we had nothing but a place to share.
A location. Some geographical coordinates. Some history.
And some minutes that could be counted on our entwined finger tips.
Those were cut shorter by a moratorium.
The city was big and the baggage we carried was bigger!
These did not allow us to run faster.
But even if we did,
Could we have ran past the pre-decided finishing line?
What I understood as now.
What I thought of as constant.
What I knew as true.
What I wanted to be forever,
Changed in an instant.
It now requires me to begin again.
As I stand here groping for my stem,
I try to believe with all my might,
I can remain here.
Standing.
