Nihilistic tendencies

I can’t say that I don’t have these
nihilistic tendencies, never at a macro-level
because that would make me a geranium,
the crimson veined petals, envenomed,
embittered, strangely giving you
the right fragrance, mocking the passing hand that
crushes, and I’m sure you’ll love that as much
as the cologne, but a micro-level, I can’t help
but doubt, I guess dogmatic, dictatorial,
doctrinaire pulp needs an endodontic
file to suck it out, fill it with something
nuanced, but doesn’t controversy
beget art who slaps you when he’s one,
hooks and uppercuts when he’s two,
head kicks when he’s three,
anaconda chokes when he’s four,
and I guess I’ve seen enough to know
that love poems are sermons, and those
‘awws’ are paws, and an emoticon screams,
that nature reaches those orgasms using
clever subtle analogy, that esoteric
verse romanticizes, and romantics
are cryptic Batemans, but when she left me
yesterday, the fire that so tortured
me, never reaching catharsis,
reaching-searching-yearning-longing,
found itself doused by a deluge of
another sort, I’m finding it coming back,
the things forgotten, flooding-sweeping-
overwhelming-overrunning, and I guess
I found an answer, not peaceful, but peaceful
enough, urging me there’s more than fire or ice,
and it’s something between, connecting
the two, the water, I guess she was a Lorelei
of sorts, and I needed another crash against
the rocks to finally realize that I can swim.

© Nitin Lalit Murali (2017)

Protected by Copyscape

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