Tears

By Devalacheruvu Ridhima

Natrium soaked ichor, flowing from my eyes,

Drips down the curve of my cheek,

Gleaming like strings of blue Caspian pearls.

Threaded together, by a weave of emotion, feeble and meek,

None can understand the beauty of each gem.

An emotion writhes through each bead,

Everlasting and lingering forevermore

It brings forth the birth of each pearl

Thoroughly coated in a nacre,

Of life’s never ending worries and woes.

It leaves the shell; dry, desolate and desperate.

For a reprise and release,

From the burning sensation of the birth,

The exodus of the pained pearl,

As it yearns for simplicity and peace.

Often the pearls, are passed with little to no fanfare,

The sadness and pain for no one to witness,

As it falls to the sea bed,

To soak into the sand, never to be seen again

Its agony is its own; ever forgotten in the deep sea’s stillness

For pearls are formed,

When an errant grain of sand,

Tortures the sensitive insides of the scallop,

Tearing apart its peace of mind,

Finally covering and sending it away by force of hand.

For they are created when man deems it fit,

To torment the mollusc, for vanity and vain,

To create a perfect pearl,

Round and pure, to satisfy our own lechery

We terrorize the clam, wringing it through writhe and pain.

But, rarely does there come a time,

Where pearls are forged by their own choice,

Rose tinted and perfectly sweet

The ichor bleeds willingly.

At the momentous occasion, when we shed tears of joy.

By Devalacheruvu Ridhima