I bounced back each time I was hit. I learnt to heal myself, whenever I was stabbed in the back. I learnt to forget and move on, but not forgive. It is a protection for the future. Glass, wax and lac have all tolerated intense heat in the process of moulding. Grapes are crushed and fermented, before they become an intoxicating wine.

Would I have been the same person, if so many people had not tried to break me? I reached a higher level of strength, and assumed new shapes to counteract every attack. And a new person emerged. It is the stronger and better me.

Fine, green henna

in the mortar and pestle

turns a pretty red.

Haibun Monday #38

3 thoughts on “Moulds

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