Posted in Poetry


No matter how trivial or small,
There was always that urge
to correct,
to edit,
to enhance?

Their intentions weren’t bad or evil, you know.
They just thought that if I gave up this piece or that one I’d suit them better.

I’d make them happier,
on some occasions, I’d be easier to handle, maybe.

“Would you give up this dream?
Maybe this tiny obsession of yours?
Would you give up your life,
to be part of mine?”

Being so young and inexperienced in life I thought why not?
If it made us happier,
If it made them happier,
I would do it.

Love is sacrifice, right?
I think I took that too literal.
Because to sacrifice this much, to sacrifice your identity
That’s not love. That’s foolishness.

They never did the same anyway,
They never left tiny pieces of themselves on the side of the road upon my request.

Because I never asked and I would never have asked.
They didn’t have to give something away to be likeable,
to be loved.
Looking back at it,
Now after they’re gone,
I think that’s what ruined me.
Falling in love too hard,
too young.

Before I had any idea of who I am
or what matters most.
And not knowing makes giving everything up so easy.
Every once in a while, someone would ask.
If I would change for them,
but I’ve learned my lesson.
Well, at least when they decide to leave,
I’ve got myself whole.
Courtesy Berlin Art Parasites

Well, at least when they decide to leave,
I’ve got myself whole.

How is that true for the poet though? Aren’t the pieces lost in the places where they were left behind long back?

I was not able to retrieve the lost pieces when people in my life, who demanded me to become a biscuit which they could break into pieces and feed every hungry soul by the road with it. Those pieces were eaten up by the souls they were given to.

For a long time, I could not reconcile those pieces back into my being.

So much so that when true love did grace me with itself, I felt irretrievably incomplete to return all the love back. No matter how I tried, the wholeness of this true love that demanded me only one thing – my naked wholeness – I was ashamed to pieces again.

For a long time I could not return back the wholehearted nakedness required of true love in both its art of giving and receiving.

It was not until I realised I was not a biscuit after all. I was in fact a tree that had left behind branches and could grow them back whenever I wanted. I was a tree that was free to grow and was blessed with the nourishing power of true love.

I was no biscuit to be broken and fed to dogs. I was a tree to bear fruit and serve the gracious. It was then that I truly ‘got myself whole’.

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