Cotton Pod . . . (Poem)

One day, the sight of a fully opened cotton pod moved me so much that I had to write this poem. I must give you a little background of this . . .

Being tired of the never ending journey of my artistic quest, once I found myself staring at a leaf-less tree, looking dry and dead, but somehow laden with little pods that looked like fruits. The state of the tree, bereft of leaves but still bearing fruits, spoke to my heart. I saw a reflection of myself in the tree. It gave me hope to struggle on, to meet my destiny.

Several weeks after, almost miraculously, someone important to me brought me a cotton pod that was fully open, with the fluffy stuff almost gushing out of it. It was also a time when a lot of nice things were happening to me in respect of my artistic work. Holding the cotton pod in hand, I felt a strong vibration in me. It was an enormously pleasant and reassuring feeling. It was like the end of a long quest . . . a sense of arrival . . . a sense of joy! Instantly, I picked up a pen and scribbled out this poem . . . in one breath . . .