One Drop

When silence snakes through in black coils
filling its dark womb with the world,
when the sounds of thought have faded
into the stillborn night,

One drop is what it takes
to fall, into the inert pool
of memories and stir therin,
ripples of thought to cascade into waves,

For quiet’s redemption…

When the chalice trembles full
with the crimson fire of blood,
when dying eyes gather lust at sight
of the nectar of the immortals,

One drop is what it takes
of hemlock from morgul vales,
to sour the potion beyond form -
from elixir to hell’s froth,

For life’s breath…

When eleven eyes are held still by will
and the twelfth shines keen,
fixing in its terrible beam the cloud
beyond which lies the brightest star.

One drop is what it takes
in the mind’s poise from its high seat,
to cut focus to bone’s white
and to cast that sight into red abyss,

For wisdom’s price…

When the face streams pure and fair
and the eyes grow dark and fond,
when the full lips with them curve
the beholding heart in helpless plight.

One drop is what it takes
of covetal to welt the soft visage,
and taunt the moons of a moments past
to hollow sockets of ringing mockery,

For beauty’s delight…

And when the dusk clouds gather around,
when the doom bells sway without peal,
when the last spark leaves the eyes,
which even to death become blind,

One drop is what it takes
of faith to stand the crushing void,
and rouse the soul, from the claw of nought -
to battle, to life, and to death,

For hope’s rejoice.



Praveen is the joker in the pack - the lone romantic in all the infinity.
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