Wednesday, January 30, 2013

perfect purity


in your innocence
that perfect purity
you call me a dumb idiot!

reprimanding me
for not waiting to hear you speak
to listen to your babbling

see a little brook
flowing
from the centre of your being

a chunk from the divine
cut out like a piece of cheese
a nourishment to a malnourished soul
a feeble me, poisoned also by love
betrayed

but to bathe in your water
untouched and un-dirtied
by schooling
at home, or elsewhere

it is to wash my body, mind and heart
of that filth from sculpting a family
my dream, now turned a nightmare
that keeps haunting me

even as you embrace me
to kiss my forehead with your soft lips
that have still not learnt to speak a lie
unlike your mother
and her mother so skillful in that art


henry victor     20.01.2013