It's amazing to watch something grow - the process in which you nurture something from the very beginning, and seeing it mature into something else. Whether it's a flower from National Geographic caught on tape, blossoming, or pictures in people's houses of babies on one side gradually getting older to the other, it's all fascinating.
What else is fascinating is time.
Time. What is time?
"Time changes everything."
To grow up, to blossom into something new, something different.
From a tiny brown seedling, into a vibrant, scented daffodil.
From a baby, to a grown up human.
From a caterpillar, to a butterfly.
Or from a ripe apple, to a rotten fly-infested, mold-congested apple.
Or from being that person that you were, to the person that you are.
Time changes everything.
I used to watch them
chew gum and blow bubbles
Candy-floss pink so
sweet and yummy,
I tried to make one
too but I always had trouble.
I used to watch them
roll on their tummy
Without any haste, so
perfectly done.
But when I tried, it
always turned out crummy.
I used to watch them
have so much fun
Laughing, skipping,
and running along.
I tried to join too but for me they would always shun.
I used to hear them sing so many songs
A melody entwined so
perfectly matched
In between the rests
was where I belong
I used to find that
my socks were mismatched
A white with a black,
or a black with a white
Just like me, I was
always unmatched.
I used to hide under
the covers late at night
And squeeze and
squeeze my eyes tightly shut
Because the roaring
darkness gave me a fright.
I stick up magazine
fragments I always cut
I had nothing else to
do – I’m a sore thumb
But to them I always
seemed like a mutt.
I think that now I
can blow bubble gum
Just like how I used
to watched them
But I then again I
can’t, and so I’m glum.
I see the first green
of the plant stem
I’ve finally found
something I can do
It’s beautiful just
like an emerald gem.
I hold the pencil
tighter – I draw something new.
Flying across the
page it flits and it’s sweeping.
I stop and bring it
up to see what I drew.
I see that it is a
girl clutching her head, weeping.
Bringing it up to my
face to look closely
As the inky black
realization seeps in, creeping.
I drew her tears like
blood, quite grossly
Her lips upturned
like a pale blue moon
In short, she looked
like me – mostly.
I will learn to know
how to sing that tune
That tune I used
always hear them hum
It always reminds me
of a tranquil dune.
I will see who and
what I’ve become
That past me I’ve already
burnt to ash
Burnt to ash, the
color of a ripe plum.
I will no longer
remember them splash
Having fun, running
and laughing about
All those memories I’ll
throw in the trash.
Because now my future
seed’s begun to sprout
Never again will I
ever feel doubt.
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