Thrown Poem by Vaibhavi Jadeja

Never discerned myself

Either was a tower

Or was some Indian sweet dish



Rocks were thrown,

Yet, the tree accepted,

In fact, fruit fall occurred

And some rocks died



I was told to ripen,

The seeds haggling inside me

The seeds inside me

Made me an I



I was never an I,

I won't ever be an I

It's reckless to be an I



While as a matter of fact,

The rocks inspire

To be oneself

The fruits were sweeter

Enough to not burst their head



Their aptitude was

Unquestionably immaculate.

They were all ripened,

Sweaty and unacceptable fruits.

God is they and the

Fruits are god



Why not the microcosm

Of this planetary

Be a big They



Some fruits are over seen,

Yet they are they,

The annunciation

Doesn't matter.



These fruits are satisfactory

To eat,

They are not to be over

Justified by the maroon spots,

But rather by their bright seed



Sometimes just looking at

Those maroon spots are like reminiscing

Even when they are never unfolded.