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Tough

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

Copyright © Sangeet Portals | Year Posted 2022

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