Faith the Half Lit Ruby, On a Cello, Earnestly Turned Off

What did you see then? In how many ways? A ludicrous and Plain, placid remembrance About tea cups, tea spoons, sugar cubes… A close pattern not to be seen for too many a times A perfect assumption to be surmised for no good tears Books of John to be given away as it meant nothingness When perseverance decides on your end niche And you are tearing apart your insomniac membranes About yesterday and also about the day that went beforehand ‘Some birds flew away with your common sense.’ Is it not that God resides in trivial mimicry in awful abundance? In an embroidered quilt, in quilted thick and thin, fingers felt rejoiced. Along the longest lonely night, some unknown enjambments inflict blisters, Silences that none cares about, that too deep. Somehow, knew that too, all along, in a down-to-earth truce, harvesting creep. Gone are those flutes, long gone in decades bygone Yet, they made you a wiser ponderance, where you are the only one As you held them close to your heart, long too naked not to mourn But beyond mourning also, they endured, as they felt alone.