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Poem

We believe love to be that ideal perfect world we seek
Seeing in it, a comfort, a solace, a companionship,
Thereby imbibing us with enough strength
As to face our world, which can be good
If it wants to or hostile if it so deems!

Yet, in that which we want to root ourselves,
Lies a hidden pit, which gets opened
Only when the blindfold that we wear over our eyes,
Get lifted by that which is known as our truth!

In the depths of the pit, abuse in all of its forms
Steadily builds itself upon its own foundations,
And once it is set loose,
Nothing and no one can chase it down,
And secure it back to then when it was inexistent!

Once free, it shows itself as being made of a steady will
Easily shattering us in whatever ways that it can;
Physically maiming us as to have us wince with pain
As we busy ourselves doing our daily activities
Or emotionally tearing us apart
As to turn us into unstable oceans, capable of
Turning dry if we so wish to, or making of our swells
Heavenly planes for surfers to play into if we so choose!

The abuse that is hidden in love comes with its packaging
And the extent to which each one of us experiences it
Depends upon our chance, or even our karma, or even 
Upon that which we call fate!

But then, if we choose to stay away from the soothe of love,
We come to face another kind of abuse;
That which comes from those who are unable to digest
The fruits that we grow; that which come from the trees
Of inner peace growing in our own microcosm!

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