The flame that boils the water never complains no matter how long it takes. It will constantly fire until the sweltering point is reached.
The roots that hold the tree always support it with all that it can no matter how much the wind blows, until the storm breathes its last breath.
The beast of burden that plows the field never turned its head even a minute to show weariness until the farmer’s done.
The abs of a farmer do not stop contracting for every ounce of strength he releases until the sacks of rice are filed.
The leaning tree does not envy the upright although it crosses beneath them.
The hammock comforts all the time.
The copra burned just to make the farmers earn their livings.
The gray hair in our head might mean otherwise.
The sign that says: “No entry” never wonders what’s forbidden inside.
The arrows that point directions always give it to anyone regardless of.
The fence secludes and includes depending on where, what, when and whose land are you standing on.
The flower pot never outshines the flowers it bears.
The bridge bears and connects everyone. It does not choose who and where.
But like me, the waiting shed just waits and sheds whoever succumbs. I don’t mind, I don’t bother. I am just here.