PROSE POEM
Strained Symbiosis
of our coexistence
I grow — on a dead log. Extruding the sap of living life out of the cells — dead, now. My mishaps craftily shaped, drawing the dewy-eyed flutter-by wings. Your withering — day in ‘n’ out — amplifying my glorious whines.
We will not remember how it began — whence the first touch was made garnering the whole of YOU — into the whole of ME. When I do reign — supreme — there shall be no traces of failed attempts at sublime clinging.
I live — to watch the sun rise in your eyes, to have your face lit up incessantly radiant, perching the Universe whole — just right — in its dubious axes of perplexion. Devouring the vibes that make you mine.
Then I move over, letting the thorns hurt you — and you’d know to escape the dagger as it strikes somewhere down the road.
The love that was left — safe in my heart and the stars — will cradle vernal universes to come, sacredly. Reminiscences of gallant feats manoeuvred delicately in the known lifetime. And that counts.
I bide — for time — elusively ample for this time of life — in bouts that count.
The very something that was searched for — far ‘n wide — was found in its own happenstance— unceremoniously under the matted clutter of a head — which once was…
