Right when I thought,
I lost it all;
I stumbled upon,
What seemed like a gritty rock.
It lay stranded amid the street,
Apart from its peers in the sand;
I found my reflection in that debris,
Its case struck one as being similar to mine.
I gave it a little punt,
But he hardly shook an inch;
His stubborn self refused to sway or stray.
Day after Day, I returned to his side,
An ongoing battle against his heavy frame;
His irregular shape bore the weight of every strike,
Chipping away the jagged edges of a past I didn't like.
Through weeks of stubborn nudges and kicks,
He shed the grit, the grime, the rust;
Leaving all his fine impurities,
To crumble in the dust.
Until, smoothened down to a rounded core,
I gave him one last desperate budge—
And watched him break his heavy stance,
Refusing now to yield or judge.
He caught the wind, he found his pace,
Free from the friction of the past,
A rolling stone upon the street,
Finally moving, free at last.
For I thought I was stuck with him,
But it was the other way around;
I was slow to realize,
The teachings he had brought.
That day he became a great teacher,
And I his humble student.