Beneath the Concrete
BENEATH THE CONCRETE
Born to a hard, brown, and rocky soil,
A world where Adam's fall makes us all toil.
I thought I couldn't bloom and blosom,
thought I wouldn't sprout, so they assume.
Here I find myself, where I live & birth;
A world of weighty woes and hardened earth,
Concrete buries the soil and nature I spoil,
Modernization is sent as a necessary decoy.
But cracks are the first glimpse of hope,
to unsovocate the strangled sandy slope
where life leads I, the rolling stone.
Each one of us fights hard to hold our own.
But I became like the rose that grew from the cracks,
sprout in chokehold despite barages of attacks.
'The Lord lift the rose that grew from the concrete'
and set him high as the cynosure of the country.
The scars garnered from the forceful growth
And the hope has the same virtue in both.
I embrace the changes and put defeat to bed.
I transition like the pepper when it turns to red,
Bcos it allows itself transform to a vibrant hue
no matter the impediments & what I go through.
I'll uncover the vast beauty that lies in me slowly.
My scars are the receipt & evidence of victory,
how I survived battles lined-up in my history,
A testament to resilience beyond compare.
Cracks are not to be fixed cos I didn't put them there.
Instead, I embrace those little cracks
So the sunshine may warm my weiry backs.
For in these cracks , I find my strength & might
And sprout again to take full flight.
The colourless world witnessed my light.
I bloomed against all obstacles...
Oh, it was but a rare miracle.
This pepper seed defied the gods in their fiasco.
Then it was written of me and so they say:
"In a world of concrete, hot, under the Sun Ray,
A tiny seed found its destined way."
VICK MANUEL POETRY
{VMP}
FORM: Rhymes
Copyright ©24th October 2023.
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