Ideas

I often ruminate about ideas.

Where do they come from

And where do they go?

Do ideas ideate and reproduce

Or do they die a silent death?

When they meet one another

Do they indulge in a battle of egos

To assert their superiority.

Or do they silently acknowledge

Each other's presence, like two contemporaries?

Whatever they are and wherever they go,

They make the world go round.

With the seeds of the future embedded in them 

They look with longing for nourishment.

To shoot, grow and spread their branches,

And protect the world under their canopy.