Nectar in a sieve of men

I have met a lot of men while navigating the waters of the world;
soft sky above, soles upon smooth stones and clouds
scattered as chips of an eggshell—a little bit of advice, life is hard,
so laugh a lot,
eat mulberry jam and just follow your instinct.
There is no mystery to them, ruins of civilization which would always
stand, now crumbling by grey smoke and grimaces;
it makes me wonder as to why I was so completely lost in the wilderness
of my youth,
masala manipulation; there are fewer men nowadays who bother putting
on a charade.
Nectar in a sieve of men, no matter the age; taste his mind before
you move on to the core, hold the broken pieces with hands gentle, and
observe as he becomes poetry—these are the ones worth waiting for,
the ones who in a span of few seconds
can weave serenity laced with the dare of a fevered dream;
we are just a choice away from twirling, from dancing under the moonlight.
Hearts like rain soaked magnolias, if you don’t like the echo,
don’t set the tone, men are more like us than we’d like to admit,
I can say with absolute certainty that I did not know this until
a decade later—hollow lullabies
sung in verse, speaking of moments I never shared, choking on roses.
Shallow streams make the most noise,
I tell you plainly, there are many shades to this species, while our needs
are uncomplicated,
but like us they hear every word you say and feel the ones you don’t—
men too are blossoms but in gardens of grey; oh look,
the sky is flirting again.

 

 

 

 

Photo credits: Cherry Blossom by Marcel Kodama, Pexels.

Posted for Open Link LIVE #292 @ dVerse Poets Pub

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