Poem - Dropping the Shield

Dropping the Shield 

Dora Seecharan ®

Some of us have to hurt, break and die many times over, paving a way after our loss for others to live.

And some of us inspire love, but not to ourselves, but toward others. 

And some of us, our hands are not the right size or fit for love to fit in. It slips out every single time, falls to the ground and loses its colour like a dying fading blue emperor butterfly.

And some of us don't know how to pull it out and rest it on the table. We hope it can be felt instead. 

And some of us, our hearts are blind and deaf and mute. All we have is our own feeling, our own admiration, our own desire. Just wanting to be free and seen and hidden all at the same time. Or is it that our hearts only love the deaf, blind and mute? And love them out of their shell only for their wings to spread out and fly away?

And some of us are probably meant to be the last remaining match in the match box that has worn out on both sides. We are meant to live the numb condition of never having our head finally see light, feel warmth, be consumed by the renewing power of healthy heart beat.

And some of us don't fight for it. We wait, and hope, listening for the return of the echo emanating from inside us.

Some of us die, silently. Quietly. Strongly. Sacrificially. 

Go back to sleep love. False alarm. Stay inside. But let the pen translate the whimpers that will never have an audience, that will pick itself up and keep walking on, not looking back, swallowed up in a smile that can probably still turn upside down but never backward.