|Blogs > rm_Drishya > Musings and other such things|
To call it blue would be a lie,
a solitary hue amid subtle variations
is too much for the mind to grasp.
What is color without sight
and what is sight without presence?
Color is idea, the spectrum: concept,
an abstraction in light, in darkness there is nothing.
To call it love would be a lie,
and the variants, deviations
and reverberations of words, only words
are bereft of rhyme or even worse: verse.
Don't call it touch, damn it, tell the truth,
we hover in spheres into and out of lives
vibrating against each other,
close but never touching.
Fingertips press the edge, elongate boundaries,
distorting the perfect bubbles,
but never breaking through, never really touching.
Innocence? That's laughable,
you choose to lose each step.
It's not innocence, only destruction:
when the ultimate sin is living,
survival is Armageddon, each breath a defeat.
But, to call it living would be a lie,
when you expect so much more
than you let yourself have.
It's your decision, yours alone,
you burst a bubble, tore a sphere
and screamed, wanting more, always more.
To call it more would be a lie.
7/30/2005 11:15 pm
Now I know we gotta talk, gurl!|