Roots

Beneath the soil, where light cannot reach, Roots stretch out in secretive silence, Unseen, they twist and curl, Drawing life from the depths, A quiet connection to the earth’s pulse. They reach through layers of history, Past the remnants of ages long gone, Grasping fragments of ancient stories, Whispering to the present through their touch. Each root a vessel of memory, A map of what has been, A link between past and future, Rooted in what remains unseen. The ground holds them, But they are not bound by it— They move, shift and grow, Pushing outward in search of sustenance, Tasting the minerals that sustain life. Roots do not ask for recognition; They work in silence, In the dark of the earth, Drawing strength from a quiet world Of decay and renewal, Of life returning to itself. In their depths, there is no rush— Only the steady persistence of survival, The slow, deliberate force of growth, An unspoken patience woven in the dirt. They resist the drought, the flood, The disturbances above, Drawing on an ancient resilience That knows not of time, But of cycles— Of seasons that turn and turn again. Roots are not mere anchors; They are the very veins of life, Lifeblood coursing through the earth, Invisible, yet essential. Without them, all would crumble— No foundation to hold what rises. They hold the tree, the flower, They hold the earth itself, And in their grasp, they remind us— That growth is not always visible, That strength is often found in the unseen, In the quiet persistence beneath.