The Poetry in Imperfections

Things come together

They fall apart, in one moment.

Sometimes, less salt in the lentil curry is perfect.

Sometimes, the right proportion makes not good grub.

 

It is not what you eat.

It is not what you put together.

It is the perfections in the midst of imperfections,

And imperfections in the midst of perfections,

That cause things to come together, in one moment,

And to fall apart, in another.

 

We make passionate love,

And, you fart right then.

I fall in love with you, all over again.

It is the imperfections of ourselves that we bring to our love,

That makes the passion and companionship between us. 

 

Words are never perfect,

Neither is love.

It is not words that make the poetry,

It is the balances and imbalances in the vision, joy, anxiety and craft of the maker,

That perfects the poetry in words.

 

It is not what you eat.

It is not what you put together.

It is the perfections in the midst of imperfections,

And imperfections in the midst of perfections,

That cause things to come together, in one moment,

And to fall apart, in another.

 
[Dedicated to Abhisek Sarda and my Altaf]
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About writerruns

I am lost in life. I now run to lose myself and to lose the handles I have been holding on to.
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