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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2010-12-19 | [Acest text ar trebui citit în english] |
Is this how the seed feels in the ground
after first rain? Is this how the lacquered bean, with its polished skin, feels after its first drenching? Is this how the dicotyledon feels swelling inside its tight black skin? holding itself in as long as it can; afraid, almost, to burst its perfect corset of loneliness? Is this how it feels as the two little halves swell with disbelief, soften, split to disgorge the pointed green tongue of growth; tearing, at last, the japanned, the varnished husk? Is this how it feels when the pointed tongue finally expels itself with a will for life, for upwards, spreading the wings of the seed east and west, as the proud little shoot climbs skyward, sunwards, engorging itself on sunlight... intoxicated on chlorophyll, at last... soaring, now, soaring, the wings now unfolding green,embryonic leaves, and the discarded husk now an empty shell clinging, unneeded, to the stretching neck of the stem- unrecognized, an empty rag of what-used-to-be, a discarded little pouch of what's-yet-to-come.
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