How educational to look through
The scab, a curtain, panes and dew
To see a magpie on the lawn,
Reminding us, that we are all contrasts
Of our own diabolical need to contradict.
Like how we go against the conscience
Time and again, like it was just a meaningless
Voice, perhaps a psychosis of our fears,
To take out mainstays like tradition
And that contradiction is why we are all paraded on a stage
In striped pajamas, that too a contrast
Like the jumping magpies, when we are
Only axiological trophies of love
That you parade inside your heart
And love is a prison sentence of how
Blood makes little lines connect,
And soul-mate makes magnetic poles meet,
And only when we crash out of those grips,
Those strangleholds, love has on us,
Are we are free to be anything we can be.
And still we move back, searching for love
To reembrace the creatures that make
You part of a flock, the three types
That define love in earnest
Those who stick together,
Those who are stuck together,
And those who are stocked together.
And what defines them are the invisible glues
That time applies to define three anatomies,
And their degrees of togetherness.
The soul, the heart and the mind;
Stick, stuck and stock.