Scars

‘Does all this mean anything?’ I asked her,
once a claw of meaninglessness
tore my heart of optimism out of a ribcage
of hope.

‘Yes,’ she said, still lying on the green or
a semblance of green.

I wish I can believe her now.
I wish I knew who I am.
I wish I knew what I stand for.
I wish I could feel love like I once did.

But once you known love, a palimpsest
of horrors will stay with you because
though love is gentle, it’ll tear you in two,
though love is strong, it’ll make you fragile
like a crystal ashtray that can break with
one fall, scattering your half-smoked
remains on the floor.

I wish there was more to life:
I wish there was more than ephemeral
joy like the first glance of the alabaster peaks,
and profound sadness like a sponge soaked
in a tub of deep-crimson melancholia,
forever stained, forever tainted, forever
abused.

And maybe you can help me see beyond
love and hope, see right into the core of life
itself and find substance aglow.
Maybe you can help me find myself
beyond time and age, their restrictions
and not live just for the thrill or live chained.

We’re broken, leading tumbledown lives –
from dust to dust, and ashes to death.
We’re seeking for something that thrives –
on light and light and gives us breath.

© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)

Protected by Copyscape

7 responses

  1. I am with Bojna! Brilliant! I love the feelings you write of love being strong and making you fragile, being gentle yet breaking you. So much truth and so much heartbreak.

    • Thank you so much Susan. I’ve gathered that from life experience. Gibran also talks about love in the same way. I’m just so glad that you can relate to it.

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