Yet once again, it slipped out;
Crashed to the floors, shred to pieces;
Attempts many you may make to assemble;
Distortion, brunts do never vanish;
Rub the stains, the base you can't conceal;
Stitch the tear, the threads tell the story;
Glue it together, the scratches will remain;
In times of stress, they'll give way;
The volcano of hurt will erupt;
All bondages the lava will trespass;
Charred will be the intent;
burnt will be the pastures green.
Handle the glassware,
like the newly purchased piece -
Precious & dear; always.
Lend it not, grant it not;
Sideline it not, in the corner - ignored, dust layered.
It ain't a possession...It's alive...
Breathing, beating with each second;
Hungry for attention, dying with each action of neglect.
Tears many it may shed, smiles many it may pass
In your inattention.
You may fail to notice, fail to respond;
It suffers, yet optimizes...
for the daybreak, for the sunlight.
It will grow, glow and fruit;
Its own eyes will water it.
Part of your life, your abode it is;
It will bud, flower, spread fragnance...
One bright day, It will be the beauty of your existence...
The reason for liveliness...
when work fades, hobbies take a backseat;
and world disperses to be on their own.
Your dormant conscience will rise
The sole soul waiting will then,
not slip from your frail hands.
It won't be skipped...
Forever, till death do them part
They won't be separated...
Expression will find articulation
The due won't be denied...