Cracked Fruit

Words have swallowed
My nights.
Your moon spot
Is my sickness
Of detachment.
I long for the sky
To mesmerize me
Like the insurmountable
Azure.
Morning flowers
With thorns.
Inventive happiness bleeds.
Yet I embrace
The steps
That break the silence.
Every asked
How are you does not
Let the relatives know
Your true stance.
Words and words
Meet and detach
Script and stain
Console and plead.
Morning is my
Inventive happiness,
Night carries
My secrets,
The skin of my beloved
Is the wide blue sky
That cries in rain
And strikes like
Thunder.
I taste life
From its cracked fruit.

© Sushant Thapa
Biratnagar-13, Nepal
Picture Nick Victor

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