tools
Perfection
Perfection
Worn out tools in thirst of rebirth,
all acquaintances blame its existence
yet, once it arose to make it high.
Time and again failure shook the hands
However, short-lived branches,
making its hay to touch the ground:
At my heart banyan tree.
Whose depth and lengths
lesser known to one who counts.
Let my tools find new horizons,
in line at finishing my tasks
doubting self best of my choices.
I wish too many worn out tools
bank the perfections.
