Spokes Of A Wheel

So here it is, the first poem in the series.

Génni̱si̱- The Greek Word For Birth

Parched, thirsty lands surrounded me
Filled with cracks and crevices
Dry, hot winds howled all around
Raising a storm of dust

There I lay comfortably
Only a seed, in hibernation
Hoping against hope
Hoping to not exist

As I lay there, I heard something
Somebody walking into this landscape
Walking towards me, waking me up
Oh, I resisted, with all my will

But he took a shovel
And started digging, digging into the soil
Digging into my existence
Hard metal against hardened land

And off flew the soil
All let loose, made fertile
So that I could grow
So that I could heal and be born again

But oh, but only soil is not enough
I needed the rain too
I smiled inwardly in relief
But he decided to pray

Pray for rain, pray for a little shower
And then came the rains
Fed my soul, those little drops of words
And Gennisi, I was born

Against all odds, against my wishes
I decided to hope again
I decided to love again
I decided to take birth.


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