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.