If the seed of life within me
Were to die unborn?
If it were never to meet the fertile soil
Which it needs for its blossoming?
What if everything I hoped this life could be
Were to turn out a joke
And deadness the only real thing I felt?
Perhaps if I learnt to watch
The deadness and
To see its stifling hold on my mind
Watching with care and attention too
The fear which followed in its wake
Fear
Of my own betrayal of life
The watching might open a door
And behind this door might lie the fertile soil –
Caressed by wind and water –
Of love, which makes all things grow
In a magic moment deadness would
Turn to life and I would start to know myself.
Uma Ranganathan