Poetry

Talking of nameless and unhappy death 
I resume the pathos of recluse 
if not, what do I do after the sunset? 
 
The shadow themes are picking up 
and I am saying, 'No, I cannot do it, 
may not do it, will not do it.' 
I have been a drifter, did not grow roots 
between the desire and wish. I had been 
hopping from a thing to nothing. 
 
Pretending my privilege, I ask the periwinkle 
how do you do it, 
remaining evergreen? 
A smile spread on the calyx 
the kind of a rainbow. 
That was the answer. 
 
No trace of bitterness, just the innocence 
after many hurts. Life prods, life knocks, 
natural and unfathomed pain. Must it leave 
a scar? Live as you are, I say. 
 
The blackened bread, the fudge, 
whatsoever comes on the way 
the flavor should be sweet. 
They are morsels of confession.