Monday, March 9, 2015

Pickle

Washed once, washed again, and again
Until the conspicuously accumulated 'dirt' was removed
Chopped, diced - in geometric shapes
Triangle, square, rectangle, cube
All shapes reflecting the soul of the main piece 
Yet every new geometric form threatening to claim importance
Their perpetrator thus sent them for a batch of sun-drying
Dried, wrinkled, they returned, 
Yet strong, as though they had digested the rays of the sun
Their vulnerability sent for a sun-bath
Returned with pickled-freshness
Leaving a mouth-watering taste
On the tongue, that stuck-out,
Inviting more vulnerability-
For vulnerability added to the spice 
More sun-bath, a whole new process of metamorphosis.


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