Saguaro

In the shimmering heat waves under midsummer blazing sun, for he doesn’t know the meaning of the abundance of waters the overflowing river, quenched his thirst with boiling sand while looking at the sky to find a tomorrow in somewhere on the other side of passing cloud. He was forgotten saguaro standing one leg on the ground with both arms spread open in the middle of wilderness like a weather-beaten lonely scarecrow, though there were no birds to drive away. Under the scorching sun, with great patience, he was standing in the stony field as a stem of cactus, his skin was slashed and torn opened by the stinging sunrays, and from those open wounds, the prickles gruesomely grew to lessen the pains. However, days and nights of intolerable tortures forced him to become a worthless piece of burned stake, the stake that of no will, no breath, and no significance, and therefore, no word to express the feelings of his own is in it. He trusted the words, “as long as stand steadfastly and patiently wait in the field, though there is no season of spring or autumn, for life is tough and will is the root cause of existence, one day, you’ll become a beautiful flower,” and waited a long. He never bloomed though after those long waits but collapsed in the shimmering heat waves as a piece of half burned charcoal that will never be burned again even if wind rises. He, now, lies there as an ugly distorted figure on the ground without a substance, a shadow of ghostly image.