Slivers, Shards and Bliss

July 17, 2015 by Usha Pisharody 7 Comments

To pick a speck
From a mosaic
(This, of existence!)

Is that even possible?

Bliss. That one.
Pure, uncontested.
Revelling in a moment
Lived well.
Drenching in a sudden summer shower.

Harmony.
Rarer than a four-leaf clover
That chances on you
Unawares
So quickly, it’s gone…
Before you even saw it.

That mosaic
(How I come back to it!)
Never static.
More like a kaleidoscope
Shifting.

Knowing it all to be
Imprisoned
Shards of sharp-cornered glass.
Multi-hued, to lend falsehood
Of beauty.
Of life.

So much so,
I drown. Wonder. Yearn.

Yearn
To shatter it all
Instead of shifting
At each upheaval
To find a prettier picture…

Far easier, to pick a sliver out
Than to hold those shards
Within.

But.

If I did.
Dear God.

If I did.

The unreflected light
Would all, all,
But
Consume me.

12 July, 2015