My soul is hungry, and I caugh out disappointment.
Centuries ago, this dream began and I insist on being the fruition.
I insist on being the sweet juice that runs through savoury flesh of the produce.
Even if I never get to drink myself, others will take a bite, and let me out of my cage, to freely flow.
A drop of me will soak their tongue, and my taste, refusing to take shape, will soon be a memory erased.
I will continue to freely flow.
Spirit of Tara 