Pleasure

By B P Rachiti

In the pleasure of the grass,

We forget that the sand once stood at the same spot.

In the pleasure of the anger we rage against each other,

We forget that the sunny times under the skies with that person were, treasured possessions.

In the pleasure of violence indicted against the now; what we call a violator of words,

We forget that the scars of our own words will last a longer time.

In the pleasure of the sunset against that dusky background,

We forget that the highs of your own roars were deafening to the skies at one time.

In the pleasure of being forlorn,

We forget that a tough person always lasts longer than a tough time.

In the pleasure of seeing it through the tunnel,

We forget that the tunnel in itself is the gratuity of life.

And therefore, if we find pleasure in the sublimation of humanity as a whole rather than oneself

We will never seem to forget that where life stood once, another will stand another day.

And in the pleasure of the enlightenment of today thus,

We tend to forget that the life that was made to be complicated,

Is an illusion that we were meant to break.

By B P Rachiti