Jogging into the woods one fine day — amid all the elegance of nature — you notice the cuts of imperfections it had and you question your heart and ask why does it says its beautiful even with all its flaws and imperfections?
That day, a lot of things were understood and many more questions were instilled.
Is a cut really a flaw?
One of the questions that stayed and went unanswered.
But is it really? It’s very interesting to go about it, sometimes a cut marks the end of something, other times it marks the beginning of something and sometimes it’s just not certain what it signifies. So why should it even be considered in the line of thought where it’s called beautiful? One of the questions persisted.
A cut. Huh. Beautiful?
In life, be it of objects or humans, there are always moments of extremity; a cut might signify one of those moments.
for a human, it could be the result of extreme mental pressure, torture or just a source of pain, something that a person would align with depression and sadness yet the person seem to forget that it’s the beauty of that minuscule mark that holds so much inside their minds, reminding the person of the event that made him/her do that in the first place — giving a push to move on, move further — making that small minuscule cut marks the beginning of the pain as well as be the catalyst of the end of it.
Trees, objects, things around us are not different either; a plant if cut dies but that same cut can also offer it a new life from somewhere it couldn’t grow. Quite interesting how the same principle works here too but in a completely contrasting way, here it marks the end as well as the catalyst for its new life.
Do you see the beauty of it? Something so small, yet meaning so much.
I know it floods emotions inside,
the cut on your body disgusts you,
I know you repent the very existence of it,
it could be thin or thick, small or big
you see it every time you wake,
that small shitty cue,
that it’s just you who is going through all this,
I might have a lines few,
I might say I know again but I know,
that I don’t,
that I can’t.
but to you, it would feel like a sad skit,
with no happy ending,
maybe you just feel like leaving,
but is it really worth it?
shouldn’t you just hold on to find out,
to find out what’s on the other side of this?
to know how one person made you want to end it,
and how the other, made you the protagonist,
of that very skit, you wanted to leave,
and how that one cut, signified all of this.
don’t you want to ask life,
remind yourself that it was that small cut,
that reminded you of the pain, again
and again and again,
Yes, a cut.
Now you might want to ask yourself the very question,
A cut. Huh. Beautiful?