Fruits of the Tree
Waiting.
Waiting alone.
For just a few fruits
to fall into my barren lap,
with the deadness and promise
of once ripe fruit. Too afraid to climb
upon the daunting bushy green height once more.
The same height that many want to reach the top of.
Looking helplessly at the air above me, I still taste blood
-in my mouth-
-nursing a wound-
from an old fall
in pursuit of
fruit.
Under(stand)ing
Shiksha Dheda is a South African of Indian descent. She uses writing to express her OCD and depression roller-coaster ventures. Sometimes, she dabbles in photography, painting, and baking lopsided layered cakes.
She rambles annoyingly on. Twitter: @ShikshaWrites.