The Flight of the Figs II

Once upon a time

I was a fig

(Yes, a fig)

full of little flowers inside,

plenty of endless dreams…

I was born

in a casual tree

of those that nobody grooms,

of those that never get rain,

of those that drain you to death.

Shrivelled,

punished by birds

who picked on my white sweaty sweetness

and left me scarred,

but made me stronger.

One day,

an arrogant orange,

of a garden nearby,

called for a meeting of peers

and suggested the idea

of forming a fruital system.

(Yes, a fruital system)

The rest of fruits agreed.

So, the orange stood in the centre,

cause she was too tangy to spin.

Everyone else

came forward

in a perfect queue

that started to curl

coiling outwards

around the self-proclaimed star.

The apple, the peach, the pear,

the lemon and even the grape

found quickly a place

in a galaxy they called

“The Juicy Way”.

They all looked so lush,

immaculate,

divine,

waitrosy,

as they floated

in their glorious ether

of mechanically smooth subjects.

The apple and some others

started to giggle

with patronising

swivel-eyed disdain.

I am sorry, my love,

said the eloquent

smiley

sunny leader,

but this is a fruital system

where everything works

out of our own

combined

accord.

Everyone wins,

everyone contributes.

The magnetic fields

of our respective masses

are already balanced.

That is why we levitate up here,

so graciously.

If we take you on,

we will have to open the floodgates of the universe.

How many more fruits

could we feasibly accommodate?

So, after this rational rejection,

I had no choice

but to become

a zero-hours planet,

also known as a comet.

(Yes, a comet)

So now,

I am a wrinkly wild comet

full of odd rugged cracks.

I am not round,

not even pear shaped,

I have no clouds,

no satellites,

no green bits,

no rings of dust,

no frozen lakes of gas…

but I couldn’t care less!

I am a prince of the universe,

planets fear my freedom,

no one knows my trajectory,

it is hard to land on my surface,

I come and go as I please.

I wander

through the cosmos,

invisible,

but for those who dare to see.

My path,

carved in stardust,

enigma

wrapped in velocity,

nursing

the real order of heavens.

Cherries and plums whisper

in secret groves,

mapping lines of exclusion,

but my course defies their plotting,

igniting supernovas

erasing and burning

their schemes.

I fly past the strawberries,

who’ve made peace with their roots,

yet I, the comet,

I, the fig,

refuse to be anchored,

carrying with me

stories of distant orchards,

of worlds to be made

of depths to be dreamed.

In my tail, a spray of seeds,

scattering joy across the void,

each one

a promise of life,

of new beginnings,

of different timelines

converging through love.

I rave

with solar winds,

embracing the chaos,

symphonies of spheres,

where harmony is born

from light,

where gravity

is the syntax

that binds us all.

So let the fruital system rotate,

and rotate,

and rotate

in its orderly perfection.

Let the apple, the peach, the pear,

the lemon, and even the grape

play their moves

so perfectly,

for I am the wild pulse

of this atomic simulation,

a song not to be tamed,

the ever-expanding cosmos,

the heart of many black holes,

cultivating

new stars

timelessly,

timelessly,

timelessly.