I'm a branch of a fig tree,
Slowly caterpillars of envy climb,
Nibbling joy leafy loose,
Leaving holes in them.
Chasms unabridged,
Acidic after effects of
Chernobyl at heart.
Ripened,
I believe the dream has.
Then you come,
Shake the feeble trunk,
Sending tremors at my juiciest ones.
Lovely figs,
Rosy my dears.
I'm hung in suspension,
How can I catch?
Propulsion.
I can't repel.
GET ME
Spare them.
Relishing in plan of rot,
Basking a smile in the scorch you pretend.
Broken branch with no 'thwack'
Oozing purity in sobs of despair.
Chastity I chase still...
Mask your wear.
Cherubism
One Fig lost,
One and a half...
No No No.
I catch them,
My leafy joys have shed.
On Chaste ground they lay.
In the chase,
I distract you from hunting my juiciest.
Snug.
In exchange of what I laid.
I will Wrap 'em up.
Still unrot.
You may sell.
What Price will they fetch?
Purity today is no jewel!
Its increasingly difficult to make the choice between not hurting our loved ones and still standing up for what we think is right....it can tear us into two halves where no blood is drawn for our loved ones to see and understand the agony...nd yet we feel every stab of hurt as we r pulled apart...
ReplyDeletelikd dis one..da complexity and intensity of your work has magnified! tc! :)
nd yet we
Thanks for the lovely encouragement and insights you render on work. The intensity and depth of any work of art, i believe, is also upon the recognition of it with keen observers.
ReplyDeleteThanks for making an attempt to go beyond and decipher.
:) waiting for your next post in all eagerness.