Bargain (From the Archives #5)

Could I clutch onto my mother’s skirts forever,

and follow the comfort Into the arms of heaven?

Can I believe in this goddamn faith

that my siblings are my first children?

Can I hang onto the thread, the semblance of

the unusual,

the ordinary,

the taste of my own knowledge?

Should I share the love I don’t have

or distribute it to those who do?

Do I keep knocking on your hypothetical door

till you find the time to sing to me that you love me true?

Should I, must I, can I believe

the sweet lies whispered to me

on a hot summer’s night?

Would it taint my naivety or make me fight

For what’s real, what’s not and what’s right? 

Can I take back words I’ve never uttered?

Just in case you heard them,

just a little flutter.

Because these alphabets

I string together in different ways

always end up meaning the same thing. 

They intertwine in various patterns

to find their own meaning,

hoping to be different than the rest,

hoping to never have to ask again

“When are you going to wash out that clusterfuck of love’s stain?”

~N.V. (written on 8 Feb, 2013)

Note: A large part of an even larger poem I wrote titled 'Bargain'.