Someone has just turned off the tap in my life.
I had always assumed and taken for granted
that the water will simply just keep on flowing.
Water to slake my thirst for the novel and the adventurous
Water to make the garden of my dreams bloom
Water to keep the life in me going.

Then, one day, somebody or something simply turned off the tap.
There is no more water
to make my life fresh and green,
to make alive my hopes and dreams,
to quench my thirst to knowledge and wisdom,
or to just even to clean myself of the dust and dirt
of daily living.

Nothing could be more barren or drier
that the burl in an old tree.
Nor uglier and more unsightly.
Yet, in that ugly dryness an artist sees
a thing of beauty to be carved and polished
into a sculpture or a unique piece of furniture.
In it crevices and deep crannies can thrive
insects, fungi and all sorts of living things.

How can one derive beauty and life
from something so ugly and dry?



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