For days on end
I stood numb and still,
With frostbites on the cavity
Where my heart used to be.
Your cold hand has snatched,
Pulled, and froze
The vessel of my passion –
The busted drum
That used to beat
To the rhythm of your name.
In a fit of rage
You crushed,
And threw out,
What used to be
Your shrine
Now mausoleum
Of memories
Scattered to the wind.
My pieces fell …
Who knows where?
As I stood numb and still
With tears from my eyes
Bursting out through my lids,
With a small, gentle push
Of the wind of the south,
I kept walking, at first,
Without purpose, or aim,
Until I encountered,
A shiny beacon in the horizon.
Could have been a mirage,
But who cares,
When you got nothing to lose?
There,
I found a broken piece
Of who I once used to be.
As I kept walking the path
Of this sweet pilgrimage,
This trek, this path
Of finding my lost pieces,
Piece by piece,
Crumb by crumb,
Speck by speck,
I gathered them all,
And reassembled them back
With gold to fuse the cracks.
And that’s how I made
A kintsugi from my pain –
A beautiful broken heart,
That is now beating again,
Not to the rhythm of your name,
Nor the name of anyone,
But to the resonance of a universe
That’s nesting within me.
Image credit: Feature image generated with DALL·E using a prompt based on this poem and its themes.
If this piece resonates with you and you’re a visual artist, I’d love to feature your own soul-crafted work in place of the AI image.
