Bonsai Bends”

A bonsai bends but does not break,

its branches trained by patient hands,

to each curve a story of restraint,

each leaf a hymn to quiet endurance.

Tethered to its vessel,

the roots curl inward,

seeking strength not in vast horizons

but in the depth of what is near.

Healing is not always expansion—

sometimes it is containment,

a return to the soil that holds memory,

the place where scars become foundation.

Yet it does not thrive on restraint alone.

It needs the right atmosphere—

light that lingers without burning,

air that moves gently through its leaves,

the tender care of hands

that water, trim, and clean the roots,

reminding it: you are worthy of tending.

In its stillness, the bonsai whispers:

Resilience is rooted,

softness can be strong,

and even tethered,

we rise.