Nectar in a sieve of men

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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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34 Replies to “Nectar in a sieve of men”

  1. Beautifully done! I like your advice… look below the surface of the superficial and see the soul…

    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;

  2. “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” I love this! Enjoyed hearing you read it so eloquently today! 💖

  3. Yeah, I would have like to have heart you read this friendly voice of the naturalist from the other species. Its perceptive and penetrating while remaining sunny — from one who still loves to dance. There is such intelligence and art in “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.” I admitted my hopeless enthrallment with the other species long ago, and write ever immersed in its mellifluent sea … Again, well done Sanaa. This is a hundred leagues deeper than stuff you posted even a year ago. I’m astonished and humbled and proud.

  4. I apologise for the lateness of my comment, Sanaa. I was tired last night and this morning we went out for my husband’s birthday breakfast. You always read your poems beautifully, but I do miss some of the subtle beauty due to interference of the technological kind, so it was a joy to read this one again today. I love the similes ‘clouds scattered as chips of an eggshell’ and ‘hearts like rain soaked magnolias’, the phrases ‘nectar in a sieve of men’, and ‘serenity laced with the dare of a fevered dream’. The advice is excellent, especially: ‘laugh a lot, eat mulberry jam and just follow your instinct’ and ‘taste his mind before you move on to the core, hold the broken pieces with hands gentle, and observe as he becomes poetry’.

  5. I always love reading your synesthetic concoctions, never overly melancholic but ever sufficiently melodramatic, your poems are like rainstorms, every drop is a note in a thundering orchestra, drenching and then cleansing, rays of sunshine, and dark clouds, too. So very delightful. Peace~Jason

  6. Sanna,
    These are the lines that spoke to me in your poem.
    “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”
    I like the sky flirting in the end.
    There are many good men out there.

  7. I’m late in responding–a busy few days– but now reading this after reading the Twitter chain, I think this applies to the snapping woman situation, too:
    “so laugh a lot,
    eat mulberry jam and just follow your instinct.” 😀
    It was lovely to hear you read this! ❤️

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