BLED

“It is every man's obligation to put back into the world at least the equivalent of what he takes out of it.” Albert Einstein

I am in a very strange mood today – to say that I feel flat is an understatement. My indecision is prolonged and my choices are hanging in abeyance – there is still time. I do not wish to hurry and yet I must decide soon. In the meantime, I turn towards people that I believed to be close to me and they listen silently and fail to give me even the slightest of what I ask, which is a trifle. If one gives all the time, people who take from one find it odd that sometimes you ask for something in return too.

Bled

My heart last night was bled
The drops of blood, gout by gout extracted,
Falling like pomegranate grains
On barren soil.

Seeds of precious ruby
On rocky, drought-stricken land were thrown –
Pearls cast before the swine,
Such wasted toil.

My curious exsanguination
Casually observed by silent spectators,
Puzzled by my libations, mindless of the labours of
My midnight oil.

And yet the heart will fill again,
The pallid body will with rose blooms be coloured,
Ready for yet another sacrifice –
Again and yet again,
Until my final breath expires,
Until I shuffle off
This mortal coil

Sans Souci hosts Poetry Wednesday.