The Muse

There exists a universe where I'm known as Lima. You aren't allowed there.
There exists another universe in which Lima walks. You are already here.
You have entered because you can appreciate style while ignoring content. You had been warned.
P.S. Don't bash me up if you find haiku or plain prose here.

Thursday, January 23, 2014

Leaves and Inflorescences

O Parents of the world you are
Like the sun unto the lotuses
Who like their marsh-born counterparts
Bloom in the muddy realities

You have made our hearts of wood and fire
And our minds of lightning and steel
Yet in your mercy left us afloat
Like yachts in choppy seas

The heart knows all but does not infer,
It grows neither like rows of obedient corn,
Nor like the potatoes of rebellion,
It worships regardless of quality.

But where the heart is fickle,
The head is not; It is like an acorn,
It sprouts only on fertile soil,
And once germinated, cannot be uprooted.

In your wisdom you have severed,
The mortal ties between my beloved and me
You have left me alive, and useful still,
And I must stand up and think of India.

Although I will yet forge more friends,
In the fuming furnace of adversity,
How will I console my widowed mind
Where will I find such quality?
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