Why with heavy heart
would you part?
Why carry pain
And see no gain?
Why moistened eyes
Give away your disguise?
What purpose would be served
With such an endevor?
In the game of words
Both are snipers
Thinking of delivering a nudge
Which turns into a blow.
Hearts pierce
Blood runs dry
We lament with wet tears
Even on the days of joy.
What is this epipheny?
Of having an intent
Seeing it change its form
Harkening grey days
And silence after the storm.
We have a whirlwind
Sweeping everything in it's path
Leaving loose strings again
And we start with our old math
We count the days of smile
Wonder if they are worth anything
The sorrow that befalls us
Leaves a happy tang for nothing.
This counting doesn't cease
After minutes, hours and days
Like in a mouth of the fish
The parasite eats the tongue and lays.
We eat the selves from within
With this incessant counting
The end result however unaltered,
We end up with same math that got it all started.
Why the lament then?
I ask forlorn.
Filling the pail with tears
Bathing with it, singing sad song!
Vicious circle of questioning
Why, when, what and how
Horizon vanishing, earth slipping
But the spine knows not to bow.
I stare at the vanishing sillouete
And look inward
Guts of thorn, and scissorhands
Make my form awkward.
I live with it
Sand papering
Doing the math
And incessantly counting
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