A thought to the withering maize plant

Look up you dying maize plant. Close not your eyes to me. Are you the plant i dug into the soil about a month ago? Are you the plump yellow seed i put to bed in the softest of the garden soil? Are you the seedling i watered and weeded when you head pocked out into the day for the first time? Look up to me, stop bowing your head in shame. Look at my face, look at the tears streaming out of my eyes. Are you sulking away just because the sun is too hot? What happened to your faith? What happened to you who grew up with such vigour that the rest of the plants envied you? I am ashamed. I pity the fact that you give up this soon, I despise you for choosing death when you can hope for tomorrow. Can’t you just wait a single day? Can’t you get on your knees and pray the skies yield tomorrow? What will happen when the first raindrops pound the earth? Will you be there to feel the relief and the joy? Look at the weeds by your side, look at them and be ashamed. They are unwanted, that they know. But has it stopped them from growing to almost your height. Has it stopped them from hoping things will be better? Look up now and blame not the sun. Yield not to its embrace, bow not to its commands. You can live if only you make a choice, my dear plant. Look into my eyes, tell me i shall never cry for you again. Tell me i can go and give my old mama good news about your health. Tell me you’ll be okay so the ulcer of worry doesn’t dig my old grandfather’s grave. Tell me you’ll not let go and tomorrow, it shall rain again, just hold on for tomorrow.