Wound

By Sindhu Verma

Jewels and crystals Shiny, brittle, edged; Catkins and mimosa Ticklish and frail; Rainbows and rain Transient and seasonal Fragrance and clouds Wayward and vagabond; Angels and idols Perfect and surreal; You can't treat me As any of these.

I am not what you can fill Your eyes and heart with And then look away when sated. Treat me rather As a wound - In your eyes, on your heart; A wound lush, red, throbbing With a life of its own Not being you despite being you That you must nurse and stroke Even if I hurt you; Not just for the memory Of what was beneath me; Not just for the hope Of what will be uncovered once I heal; But also because if you scrape me off, You will leave behind another glaring wound.

By Sindhu Verma