Of Moths and Hearts


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My heart has shrunk into a moth
And stuttering ‘out respite,
Is reeking slow, of thirst and woe-
And seeking every light.

A heart that jumps, forever bound
To wage a war ‘gainst bone,
A moth that meets its fate on bond
With blazing joy aglow.

A heart that soaks up love like sponge
In languid waters wide,
A moth that, for days, flutters on
In slowly breaking pride.

And night to night, and lamp to lamp,
It breaks but not a breath,
A single buzz prevails its road
That steeps in burning death.

A heart that’s so enamored by
This journey to an end,
It’s packing bags already, yeah
And counting every sin.

A moth that’s braved the gutsy cold
And hungry beasts with wings,
A moth that’s ventured on and on
And found the heart to sing.

Detachment at its finest, oh!
From all feelings positive,
A slowly forming fetish for
The tortured and closeted.

My heart goes out to him, the moth
For, bless his feeble wing,
He grew the gut to live his dream
And found the heart to sing.

For every curve breaking the road
He grew in force and passion;
He set his focus on this path
With morbid termination.

And sang along, and journeyed on
To the fatal destination.

The other side has naught but me;
A writer ‘out a face,
Who’s impressed by his apathy
And drawn by his disgrace.

Who never moved beyond the bend
Of life’s darker pathways,
And ever stayed the same old wretch
From lighter, whiter days.

And moth, do take a bow, for you
Have done what I cannot
And braved and borne, the cold and storm
And fought, and fought, and fought.

I’ve hardly the required words
To pen a worthwhile fight,
I’ve not the grit to see this through-
Much less to see it right.

I’ve not that spark in my flutter
That doodle in my flight,
O moth, I’ve not a single muse
Except to cry and write.

So cry and write I shall in pain
And write I shall when numb,
And hope someday I qualify
To drop my pen, and succumb.

Up in heaven, God shakes his head
Bemused at this result;
The storm my heart was made to fight
Now sports a little hut.

For I have found a home, a stop
Within this gray vortex;
A fluttering moth and a storming heart
I’ll bear with me to death.

Till then, I make peace with my storm;
Digest the swirling hail,
And pray I meet a fate as moth
And kiss a burning grave.

Till then, I turn my pages on
In hopeless, wheelchaired pride;
A cage of blazing ribs in guard
Of a mothlike heart inside.

A mothlike heart and a burning cage
Distant but e’er beside,
Crippling my soul oh, wing by wing
But letting it survive.

I pray it jumps so hard one day-
It throws me out of life.



Aditya. 17. Blogs are safer than people.

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