The Union

I am the union
Of two souls
Cast into a mold
They fought against
The union
of what the universe
never permitted
to remain tethered
by more than a cord between hearts
Morphing within
into a noose of sharp wire
around
neck
I m an impossibility
become possible
I m what was not meant to be
and yet
came to be
I was meant to be
the rose
that blooms
in sands
that are barren
fruitless
but I became
a prickly cactus
that drew tiny roses each day
out of fingers
That know no better anymore
Than the comfort of ruptured cells
It seems right
Even outside
Even in me
I m the cloud
that is brought about by waters
lost to air
like smoke
that cannot be held in palms
to bring raindrops that the land craves
only to realize
it didn’t want it
the more the droplets soak
into its crevices
the more they teasingly remind it
of its barrenness
of    its      unq u e n c hable    thirst
I am the tree
that was never to take root
in the sands
that didn’t know
where they themselves belonged
but yearned
for a spore to guide them
where they were meant to stay
only to realize
it was not for them
they could not offer strength
which they themselves lacked
I m the one wrong stitch in a tapestry
that falls in shreds over the one wrong twist of threads it took
Which makes it all seem wrong
All the right in it
Regrets the core of each thread
I am the life
That came to be
out of the stench of death
the light that rose from the pit of darkness
that never found its place again
flickering in wake
of what would never be lit by it
I have waged a war against my own self
tearing it
bit
by
bit
to reform it
in a way
that would keep my roots together
and yet they would be ripped
in opposite directions
taking parts of me
with them
But perhaps
we were never intended to be whole
in that brokenness
I found You
in that brokenness
I recognize you
and in it
I    keep you O Lord    in my heart
till my soul knows
a better destiny

Advertisements

Sides to love..(to my grandmother)

tumblr_mdmucdn6nh1qmz42ho1_250

Image courtesy rebloggy.com via Google (painted by Leonid Afremov)

In the swirls of wine in your eyes,  

I could see love shine through-  

It had its tinges:

Each sand drop in hourglass;  

Reflecting off its surface,  

In a different tinge of red. 

Sometimes pure red glinting- 

Like the edge of a knife,  

That can cut if need be, 

Upon a tear in the rulebook. 

Those same swirls become blood red: 

When the smallest of thorns threatens harm,  

To my fragile shell trembling with naivety; 

It seethes with anger at those who advance,  

With their treacherous blades of jealousy.  

At times it transforms into a deep maroon,  

Puzzling the seekers around:  

With an air of a veiled sun, 

Which may or may not reveal-  

Its warmth divine.

On a cold winter morning,  

It melts into a crimson;  

Mirroring the victory dance-  

My universe does,  

When basking in their presence.