Fruits Not Roots

Image by Hayley Lewis

As I sit here trying to verbalize
and conceptualize,
and somewhat open my eyes,
to the concept of “roots”, I draw a blank.
Although I know by definition
what it is the word refers to
and I can see the transition
from the tree analogy we’re so used to,
there must be more to the word
than the obvious and slightly obtuse view
that being rooted equals the right to
assume that one’s thoughts and beliefs are
the only ideals one should subscribe to.
And when we talk of deeply rooted xenophobia,
and deeply rooted homophobia,
or deeply rooted anyphobia,
aren’t we basically saying
“I see that you hate me, but I don’t blame ya.”
Because the indications and the implications,
of the word “root”
just displaces the blame from
one’s shoddy morals and bad decisions
when what we really want to say is
that it’s so intrinsically a part of you
that separating it from you
is a tough position
to be put into.
I guess what I’m trying to say
is that roots don’t really mean
anything that’s as clear as day,
or easily decoded, or
everything that is seen,
or felt, or heard, but
only what one’s been
to have been put through.
So, don’t ask me where
my roots lie
when you really want to know where
I come from
and don’t describe me as well rooted
because everything you see in me
is only a fraction
of what I believe to be true.
And though it’s contrived
to even try to
verbalize and conceptualize
a complex concept in metre form
I can hopefully resonate and propagate
my personal view, too.
Therefore, as much as I
would like to,
continue with my rant on the
perils of that word, “root”,
I end with a simple thought that
even though we assign it
such importance, at the end of the day
when we look towards the vine, it’s
the fruit we reach to…
not the root.