Why do I now come to grief <br />From where does its root thrive <br />My legs walked, with my dolls <br />Made alive <br />Into the days of my childhood <br />There was one as truth and the other as an untruth. <br /> <br />Still the root explores <br />Where to begin and where to end <br />I become the *mythical swine <br />Digging down the ground beneath <br />I become the mythical bird, flying into the clouds. <br /> <br />Oh, my little screwpine flower, you uttered <br />A lie to me <br />Did you see the radicle root lying <br />In a pool, made of fragile glassy ideals. <br />Catching it, pulling it out <br />Only to have a handful of a half <br />And in pursuance of the other half, the earth <br />Groaned again and again <br />With the grief in pain. <br /> <br />With my crown raising higher and higher on every peak <br />With my root taking down beneath <br />Towards the fact of existence <br />All words lashed out to me <br />Fall apart as dead leaves. <br /> <br />Blood oozed from lips torn <br />The plate of rice signed by wife <br />Sat on the table with no words, but <br />as sharpened knife, <br />And the glass of water, full of my tears. <br /> <br />What next befell then <br />I lay fallen in a vacuum <br />Made by a flight of hundreds of sparrows <br />At the pelt of a stone. <br />The dream that stopped half way, slowly revives <br />Looking for the root <br />When I fall asleep with the gently song of this poem.<br /><br />Ponniah Ganeshan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-grief-2/
