DROOLING OVER HEMLOCKS

By | 11 May 2026

Sometimes
I think of all the once tender
Soothing voices I’ll never hear again.
Grape-sore memories conceived at those bleak
and fearful crossroads where
departure felt caustic like an unripe lemon
on the tongue of feelings. The heart,
in the process of amendment,
getting bruished, compassion nearly crippled
and still limping & love after months
without water and sunshine,
of course, died a natural death.
If love is the only thing worth
fighting for, then it shouldn’t be begged for.
Also, the fight for love should
be for a love that’s truly worth fighting for.
But, people have always asked, how
do you know a love worth fighting for?
To them I often say, ask yourself
if departure were to knock on the beloved’s door
would you be willing to trade places
& if the scenes were to be tossed like a coin
would she be ready to offer her nose
for you to breathe?
Time had shown me, again & again,
the kind of birds I should pant after
in this forest of numerous colourful birds.
Experience had lifted the veil
of ignorance off my face, by setting
me ablaze, again & again, through
the hands of those I’ll never hurt.
In the stringent citadel of learning christened
life, in the powdered classroom
of time, experience stood arms akimbo
while rounding up his short lecture
on love and happiness, suddenly projected
an inquiry into the ring of clarity:
can the heart blooming in a garden
of sunflower, at any time, be found
drooling over hemlocks?

This entry was posted in 120: DIALOGUE and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Related work:

  • No Related Posts Found

Comments are closed.