It was I that bled!: A poem

These were the vapours of our souls

These were the papers of our bones

to be revamped, reinvented and rebirthed

by the infinite juices of the universe

beseeching us to commit to play

And, I picked my way through life,

remembering whatever was instructed

as the subconscious overlaps the conscious.

In the collage of this versicoloured spiritedness

My soul was folded and leavened out

I realised I could die as much as I could live

As if the rains came and the desert was still dry

all in the patterns of just one season

As if the action of passion was only passive

But I still loved the memory and aspiration of love

Always my Dad and Mum, forever mine

And my Jashmina, the height, breadth and width of my substance

And the world can make and brand their own bread for all I care

I just keep writing off the fact that it was I that bled