Photograph by Atul Ranchod

by Atul Ranchod

Spiky thorns
Green vicious horns
Arid, dry, torn.

No beauty to beckon
Presumed to be barren
Discarded, no attention given.

Lessons lay
In Natures’s play
Amidst the hopeless

Unwanted and thrown away.
Miraculously it finds a way.
Such delicate wings

Granted to feel,
Even for a moment
The blossoming.

Pains held that have shaped
The hardened edges
Where sharp tongued sarcasm

Ready and armed
At a world that has lost
Its charm.

In this microsecond
Where no excuses
Have time to formulate

The impossible takes shape,
A breath
Breathing life
For beauty’s sake.

So many moments
Lost in eternity’s pond,
But there lies a land

Far away from
The clutches
Of right and wrong.

It isn’t for the weak
Or the strong,
Where you alone belong.

Tears quenching
The deepest yearning,
The blossoming of
A new beginning.


2 thoughts on “Impossible

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