The Art of Blossoming

For three winters, I was concealed in muted grey,
On this unfamiliar, crowded island, miles from home.
I walked these streets, a quiet, glaring shade,
Beneath this sky of sudden, heavy chrome.

I nurtured the roots in silent soil,
Digesting the cadence of a different tongue,
A slow, unblossomed, but needed toil,
While in my heart, a quiet song hummed.

But time knows the awaiting and dull soul,
And three years brought the turning of the leaf.
I found the microphone, the gentle start,
And gave my voice to joy and buried grief.

A long-awaited, resonant, and soaring melody,
As if winter has departed, and spring has arrived.
The truest self, so long dismissed,
Found naked beauty in the power to sing.

No longer hidden, no longer in the shades,
I am the petals catching subtle light.

A fierce and fully grasped, fervor for singing,
Finally harmonising in the open bright.

This is my bare, unveiled identity,
At home within my voice, at home in me,
For I ,at last, bloomed.