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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Tough Your back is brittle, like time-greyed oak, Curved like a bow, The string constantly tight and ready. The glare from your eyes: Like cold steel. The things that you do, Always securely perfect and correct. Your voice strained Like a muted trumpet Except, for when you get irritated, Then, jarring for my ears And thorns in my gut. Your criticism is like sharp scissors That cuts through silk, But you never learned to sew. And “join” “patch up” “repair” “sorry” “kindness” and “response-ability” Are long gone from your life-dictionary. You walk like a string puppet soldier, Held, controlled and moved By the invisible wire Of your rigid up-bringing, Conditioning and beliefs. But sometimes, even the best machines: Break down And then you spend days in bed, Sick with poisonous coughs, Or thundering, Heavy and oppressive headaches, Or mysterious pain in your legs. You view these “lapses” with impatience, As indications of weakness That need to be scrubbed out Like an annoying stain On a spotless white tablecloth. You don’t see the blinking stars, Or hear the constant, but faint whispers Gently attempting to coax you back To the road you abandoned, Which still longs for the unique print Of your feet. Sometimes I glance at you and wonder: Was the laughter and naturalness Beaten out of you? Or, all the warmth and juice You must have had, Freezed and squeezed away, Like a once succulent plum Is now an unrecognisable prune. Or so shamed, That the mask and costume You took on to survive, Grew roots into you, And became like ivy that smothers a tree, Making it almost unknowable. You think you are strong? Yes you are tough, Scarred and shaped by the battlegrounds Of the life that encircled you. But strong Men know how to weep, Bleed, Give, Shake with panic and fear. Yes you’ve learned a lot, Your intellect and knowledge Could fill a bookshelf. But your fertile, green valley Of gentleness and vulnerability, Has been ignored, over-looked And forgotten for so long now… That it is choked with weeds and thorns And beyond recognition, How sad. Sangeet Portals October 2022
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