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?