Seeds of hope are sowed carefully onto you knowingly or unknowingly by a sower.
That sower can be your mom, dad, your friend, your enemy, a stranger, God, the universe or even you.
Hope for love, hope for money, hope for happiness, hope for more; different seeds like these are sown.
When sown, you think nothing of it. What it would do to you and What you would do.
A seed of hope has been planted.
Every day is spent in agony wondering how the seed is growing.
Many a times, growing these seeds are good. The nature of it is what matters. In this case, a bad seed has been sown.
A small seed is enough to cause a massive stir. The smallest insignificant detail slowly tends to outgrow the practicalities in you. It descends upon you and drives you into madness slowly.
I am exposed and stripped to my very core. I need an armour to fight off the delusions planted by my sower.
It takes days for the seed to develop into something.
There is still hope for it not be something.
The seed has begun to sprout under the watchful eyes of the sower.
When the pests try to contain the seed from growing, the sower adds fertilisers to your mind protecting you from the realities outside.
Seasons change, different conditions and temperatures have started to affect the seed sown. It is rising and nothing seems to snip it down. It is seeding now.
With all the right conditions, it will turn into a sapling. A step closer to a greater fall or a greater good. I am not sure until I am provided with the cirucmstances.
The seed has sprouted into a sapling.
A sapling is under nurturing, being nurtured to be a part of something big and unknown.
It continues to grow without no feller cutting it down. It would have been an easy and sad death with minimal consequences.
It is growing to withstand amongst the harshest of conditions and very little gentle breezes.
Some one cut it down before it matures into a tree. I beg of you. This tree will only end up in a sad demise once grown.
During the fragile years of the sapling, it had been fed false hopes that could have been true if fate had not altered the plans.
If the feller or the sower would have shown mercy, this tree would not have to suffer for as long it was intended.
This tree could have been snagged at the very beginning but instead, it has chosen to grow and be in the wild.
Since it has matured to its very peak, no one no longer showers it with love or give it a pretence of a false hope. Instead, it is now slowly beginning to survive in the wild, learning, watching and suffering.
As the tree starts to grow older, the hope starts to die by bits.
The tree learns how to live with what it has been given but the sliver of hope still remains. That sliver of hope drenched in fantasy is what might keep it going. A fantasy of being nurtured and loved.
The regret of that hope sown is evident. The tree no longer stands with the vigour its predecessor carried. It now stands cracked, grey and leafless.
The decayed bits of the tree return back to the soil, its nutrients waiting to be soaked by the future seeds.
One will never be lucky enough to reap the fruits bore by the tree.
I guess that seed was sown just to be killed later.