“My eyes are screened. I had three. I have them still but I can not see. I changed a lot from the colour of sun bathing grass to that of wet sand… and all that I wish now is to see”
“I think you can make up for it by revelling in the benefits of each of your organs.”
“Do you talk about my coarse hair over hard epidermis, those wretched fronds, or my grease; well you sure don’t talk about my milk. Do you? They are not for me. All I have for me are the eyes that I wish I could open and go fish.”
“Ah! You rhyme so that I feel it in my seeds.”
“And do they stick within your fruit and reach those humans when bulbs of your yellow flesh, they do pick?”
“Yes. But they know how to get rid of it.”
“My green, prickly love; how I envy thee and your clinging to the life source, the life-tree. Your heart beats with the earth. I am forlorn having fallen off, sitting atop the sand. I have forgotten the story of my birth.”
“And how I despise the way they stab me and when they wash away my sticky love. I am the pieces in the curry while you form the base of it.”
“How does it matter? We become the food that they eat and into their stomachs we go, giving to the world our last bow.”
“I am rather glad that we are picked off. Wouldn’t it be befouling that despite of our benefits for them, we remain ignored? I say I love those vegetarians.”
“You do. So I do. I feel their arrival. May be they will first remove my blindfold and let my pearl white entrails gaze at the sky so I could cry.”
“And there you go. I shall wait. My turn would come when my entrails would kiss their hands. Goodbye friend.”
The spot of the sand where the one who wanted to see rested was left with a hollow, a single long brown dried hair bequeathed by him to the past he left for, for the present, was left in the wake.
“Kalpataru…” A song lasted forever in the wind.
For Oloriel’s Tale Weaver’s Prompt at MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie. Can you guess the names of the “two people” in conversation here? I have already provided the photo of one.