Poetry Could be Broken Glass Pieces

(A painting by Sushma Sabnis- For illustration purpose only)

Poetry could be broken glass pieces

They hide in the places that you least expect

And cut your sole and soul deeply and sharply.

An inviting valley down there

A limitless sky up there

The wind that tells you unheard stories;

Everything would end with the sudden

Appearance of that piece of glass.

You rush to the nearest stream

And see the stream of blood

Like something that you never knew that you had

Making ink like patterns in the flowing water.

And you feel the severe tinge of water

Only to remind you of all those moments

When you had been cut by poetry.

Each time you cut by poetry

You become a wounded god.

The cut looks sleek, neat and planned

Like a line on a Fontana’s painting

As if the sky has just made love with a razor blade.

Flowing water takes away the stain

Leaving the cut smart like a revelation.

With a poetic cut world is not ripped apart

But many get connected

By that single moment of fate.

Whose bottle it was and who had broken it

How did that piece travelled all the way

 To the sylvan heights that you stand

And waited all those years

Like a devotee hardened by penance

Determined to cut your skin

And taste your flesh and blood.

Destines converge in a moment of cut

And none could stop shards to strut

They stay like poetry waiting by the river side.