Who to be
Day by day
With every passing argument
Can a wild fig tree withstand storms that come so often?
While roundworms gnaw at its roots,
Weevils and mites tunnel into its trunk,
Beetles chew on its leaves,
Bats nibble into its fruits,
And the terrain receives little to no rain?
Your temper is like a storm
Your constant criticism; the worms
Your insistence; the beetles
Your double standard; the bats
And my soul, the ground waiting for water from Above.
Why is it a surprise that after two years
My roots are broken
My trunk is battered
My leaves are yellow
And my fruits are sour
As though the drought was not enough
I wish I were as strong
As the saints of old
But I have been broken;
I am broken
And still you require of me
to be of cheerful conversation
to the source of you,
which is a source of many annoyance
like the caterpillars on my leaves
leaving holes everywhere
unknowingly, but surely
damaging me
Rest is scarce for my heart
It flies away earlier than the morning birds come for worms
And closes its hands quicker than the Morning Glory's time
Poison runs through my veins
But you don't even perceive
And the worst of obliviousness
Is that your hand administers it
Yet an antidote is with you
If only you could perceive;
My hope is from Above.
