Akin to an ocean whose expanse stretches
far beyond the eye can possibly see;
Shamelessly floating around each thought,
carving the deepest of scars sans any mercy;
Blood – the source of life, the harbinger of recurring misery!
Like a denizen of some sadistic nightmare,
it keeps coming back to taunt and haunt me;
Empowered by its ceaseless resources,
it pulls my body asunder, then laughs with glee;
Blood – my very own – claws at its roots, ignoring each plea.
As if on ceremony, I have been repeatedly beseeched
to make peace with this seemingly irrevocable decree,
citing that the very fabric which weaves clarity
is designed to, ad nauseum, drown me in debris;
Blood – the kind that isn’t pals with my vagina – runs free.
It’s not that I do not recognise and accept this blood
as being a part of my ever evolving journey,
nor that I am ashamed by its intrinsic nature
of transforming a sneeze or a cough into pain’s gurney;
Blood – my ally and adversary in a monthly tourney!
For someone who has not felt, smelt, and seen
the revolt of their flesh upon their mind’s tapestry,
it is easy to write off the affliction as naught:
to reduce it to a hypocritical taboo, and subject it to mockery;
Blood – the consequence of an ongoing massacre mandatory!
Random Musings Of A Scholar 