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THE BUD THAT ALMOST DIED

On why that a flower has to wither _ My Journey.jpgEarly Spring brought the showers
Which healed the sick withered leaves
Which survived through the harsh dryness
That had long crushed the spirit of hope and faith
But with careful strides, the rains erased the faeces
Long deposited on the ends of fresh buds
Their withering souls found their meaning
Their dilapidated dreams found renovation
Their abandoned rubbles spoke to their siblings
And together they resurrected to immortality.

That bud, your soul, your young soul
Once used, abused and jilted
Smelt the fresh breeze of a new day
Inhaled the fragrance of flesh on bone
Tasted the truth in its rolling prime
That bud, your soul, your essence
Once beaten and almost killed
Drank the broth that awakens
From the sickening sleep of stagnancy
To a life where all is fair and fair.

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