I surround myself with signs. Signs that just make sense to my distorted and ever-hopeful heart. However, hard I try to be practical or realistic, I still seek those signs. Most of the times, out of desperation when my mind and heart are not in sync, other moments, I simply find them right in front of me. Without even trying at all, they just show up like an oasis in a desert. This poem is about one such sign, I often look for.
Dead and dried
Enduring storms, the tree is dead
No leaves to cover its splintering worth
Vines wrap themselves sucking on what is left
The broken branch upside down
Still sits on the tree
Uncomfortable, it sure looks
Stuck and hooked
I wonder which storm did that
Was it the one that broke her heart?
Or the one that shattered her dreams?
Sipping my coffee, I sit by the window
Wondering when will she finally give up?
Weeding and trimming all around it
I maneuver the snow angels and backyard picnics
Knowing in my heart,
It will give up one day
Falling to its extremity.
Black Coffee and Grey Stories 