'A flower was offered to me’
it has dried up now with seasons changing
at times it makes me restless-
just for a moment; but strangely
the lump hurts very little today.
Is that what getting old is?
Time is a scummy sea...
The baggage crushes a man for the rest of life
It's not worth keeping, I decide.
I lean towards the table, and
without averting my eyes, and
pull out the withered bud.
Start tearing it into shreds
... silence booms a final thudding stillness.
I open the door quietly
toss out the grieving shreds ...
--ah, an auspicious de-clutter makes
living immeasurably precious.
It's a release..., or, so it feels.
No hate/baggage is worthy of conserving...
Meanwhile...
Around hardness of my heart...I realize,
He loved me quite enough,
at least, it seems tonight! I smile...
Written for
http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.in/2016/03/poets-united-midweek-motif-flower-was.html
Disclaimer: I created a fictitious work that is not really 'based on actual events'...
at least, it seems tonight! I smile...
Written for
http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.in/2016/03/poets-united-midweek-motif-flower-was.html
Disclaimer: I created a fictitious work that is not really 'based on actual events'...
If the shredding and tossing brought healing of mind in the body pained. That then was a good gesture
ReplyDeleteHave a happy Wednesday
Much love...
LOL...I think people have some trouble with swallowing depression... for it is always there.. even when not solicited. :))))) I killed it mercilessly....
DeleteIt's almost midnight in my part of the world...so, wishing you a happy Thursday and a good night, Gellina! Thank you and lots of love!
I knew this was fiction, my friend, as I know you have an adoring husband. Smiles. I love the shredding of the leaves, the letting go, the realization "He loved me quite enough". A wonderful message.
ReplyDeleteShredding the petals and letting go the the pressure, a catharsis at the end... Beautifully penned, Panchalidi... :-)
ReplyDeleteI really enjoyed this poem, Panchali...and like Sherry know it is fiction. You wrote with such emotion though. I could almost picture her standing there being ready to shred the flower. Sometimes it does feel good to 'de-clutter' especially when the relationship is over!
ReplyDeleteIt's a release..., or, so it feels.
ReplyDeleteNo hate/baggage is worthy of conserving...
Oh yes indeed! Beautifully done.
Lots of love,
Sanaa
I loved that penultimate line "He loved me quite enough" as it is curiously apt being satisfied that while the liaison was acceptable but now that it is ended that is good as well.
ReplyDeleteI'm glad it's fiction, for sometimes those preserved lumps are cancers on our health. Throw them away and move on.
ReplyDeletethe lump hurts very little today.
ReplyDeleteIs that what getting old is?
I like that...accepting the baggage and beginning to savour the good while cleansing the bad...
Shredding those petals, and beginning anew. Creative take on this prompt.
ReplyDeleteah..letting go is always peaceful...so beautifully painted with the symbol of a flower...this one's a gem Panchali di :)
ReplyDelete'No hate/baggage is worthy of conserving'. So absolutely true! An intriguing tale with a good ending.
ReplyDeleteSometimes we receive in letting go.
ReplyDelete"Time is a scummy sea" ... I love that.
De-cluttering the mind as well as the heart is always good and fruitful. You start afresh!
ReplyDeleteIf only one could grab the withered bud as you did with ease,life would be the better.But the buds remain inaccessible deep in the crevices of heart or mind that they hurt at their chosen moments!!
ReplyDeleteThe poem is soothingly refreshing.
Time is indeed a scummy sea..we must take our pleasures where we can - fictional or otherwise :)
ReplyDeletebaggage does crush one and sometimes we have to lighten the load. I can feel the letting go with the tearing of the bud.
ReplyDeleteTossing the baggage...good advice. Shredding the petals means starting afresh. Enjoyed this poem.Love the last line.
ReplyDeleteYou're good at fiction Panchali because you're.a good student of human nature. Your poem is evidence of that.
ReplyDelete