Serenade to A Muse, Cut Short

The poem here has been shortened to cut the second half which is being kept private.

I was making my way through a feracious jungle,
Each step sinking into the cold earth,
Parasites leeching off my back,
Vines tangled around ankles,
Thorny weeds leaving scars,
Sly wanderers wearing faces.

I take in the oh-so-sweet fruits
Handed to me in my face,
Which briefly satiate
To only wound from the inside.
At a lush green desert,
In abundance suffocating.

I neglect to notice an oasis,
The refuge right next to me,
And a soothing tree in the middle of it,
With a story not unlike my own:

At the tail end
Of the first week of September,
Had her noble seedling sprouted.

Here she developed:
Pricked and shaken,
Barely a whimper,
In a state of late bloom;

She kept her petals shut,
Locked away and stuck,
In search of a light.

With roots gripping the earth frail,
Asking for one drop to be spared,
She dared to simply take
A breath of air.

While she beat herself up,
For the lack of things forsaken,
With the sight of flowering plants
Hoarding the sky above,
Came a need for a hustle to catch up.

In the shadow with personal clouds,
She pondered and observed;
What is the right way to navigate this world?

A weightless calm and a frantic dread,
That both may well accompany drifting afloat?
Versus standing, shoulders broad,
On the one hand chained to a wall?

In a cyclical motion through the spiral.
Progress with each setback.
Tired exhales became her breath.
Tears her dew.
Reflections light.

A process to take gloom
And convert it to exude bloom.
With perseverance through blows & qualms,
She came to wisdom.

A humble, keystone of a tree.
Spreading fruits for more trees to be;
Her embracing branches, and breezy leaves,
Just her presence in itself became an oasis.

(...)

Oğuz Kaan Aybak