The Shards Of Glass

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Photograph by Atul Ranchod

The shards of glass
Fell in utter disarray.
Picking up pieces
Piercing the skin, bleeding.

With clenched fists
Blood pouring out.
Shouting sacrifice!
As if this is what
Life is all about.

Tyrants, martyrs, believers,
mixing together into
Alizarin crimson.
An ancient witch’s brew
Of bloodshed and misunderstandings.

Brandishing voices
From ages past.
Losing the essence
To appease the heart.

This fight goes on
With belief’s endless song.
What balm can cure
This open wound?

The stinging so sharp.
The nausea
With unrelenting pain.
Raw nerves exposed
Over and over again.

Ignorance commiserating
Incessantly shouting forth.
Held together in hatred
As blood continues pouring out.

This profuse bleeding
Must and has to stop!
Let go of the shards
Held on for generations.

Heal the punctured wounds
With the balm of Knowledge.

Those gaping wounds
Finally can be covered
With innocuous scars;
A reminder that ignorance
Is never too far.

Then the empire
With infinite tributaries,
A source of which
Knows no limits,

Courses through the veins
Mixing with the invisible wind.
Returning you home.

No longer in discord
The electrical, chemical,
Biological, skeletal and ethereal
Beating in rhythmic order.

This primordial vibration
Essential to being human,
Allowing to cross
The threshold to fulfillment.

Relish the time given.
For it is instrumental
In discovering the Divine.

Just beneath the thin
Veil of ignorance
Pulsates a Knowing
Filling the universe.

Dancing amidst this symphony,
To the ebb and flow
Of being and letting go.

Atul Ranchod

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