Perspective OR Point of View

 Not many understand the words due. 

They rattle. They shake. They wish. They fake.

Sometimes they are too late. 

I think! I feel! I believe! In my opinion! 

I’m not a minion. 

I have five senses, that entice the sixth I have.

I was taught as a child not to walk the world without the third eye.

I see, I perceive, I observe, I serve. 

I do not follow the herd. 

It takes me a long time to be heard.

But I, I never deny. 

The hue, and the cry. 

Our culture. Our men. Our entire descent. 

Do not comprehend, our gratitude, our lament.  

We bid farewell to what we’ve flourished in and grown.

Just to bare seed to a new tree. 

We produce, we provide, we nurture, we strive. 

To hear that...

So WHAT? You are not the only one of your kind.

Visualize the calamity you men bestow. 

Uproot a tree, and plant it in new garden to grow. 

It’s not a seed that will either die, or sprout from the source. 

It’s a tree, you have planted to pluck the fruit from. 

Imagine, how much care would that ask for?

But. But! But? But...

You men, with all your odds. 

All your atrocities,

All your glamour. 

All your glow, consider it as part of the cultural flow. 

“So what,” you say. 

Stop comparing. Stop complaining. Stop cribbing all that way. 

The tree keeps yelling, “But I’m not from amongst the ones you know.”

The soil is too hard.

The trees are too far.

The air is too arid. 

My world is 180 apart. 

A decade has passed. 

Seeking protection.

Seeking shade. 

Seeking the bitterness of other men that stake. 

Stake as holders, folders, boulders, to take men’s share.

Year after year, month after month, day after day, the tree withers and wares.

It did bare fruit, some sweet, some weird. 

Now, she’s prepared some gardens and some fruits. 

The fruits she’ll give away, into another man’s garden too. 

That’s the law!

That’s the pursuit!

But the garden she’s prepared. 

She’ll water it as it’s due. 

She will preach the gardener, 

Look after the tree you’ll plant for YOU.

For it’s not a seed, but an uprooted soul. 

And taking caring of it son, it’s yours and more.