Plan B: Burn it down, Call it out. It will burn you equally but don’t take it sitting down
I am the balance
I am quite equanimity
I am colour of heart’s warmth
Umber, barks, kelp and ice-tea
I allow green
I am groomed to allow plunder on self
Stamped
I am revered by wise
They know I allow the fruits that feed
But make no mistake and take no assurances
Although, nourishing is my instinct
When I fear and I shiver for worth
When I wince at ignorance and cruelties
If I wince
I wish you didn’t allow it through you
This uncalled for
Stampede
My wincing stops the gentleness, the nourishing
The cracks in souls open pyres
You dug them in unconscious
Yet still
In the end
I will give you another chance
Let you ponder
When you mix in me
Buried, burned or taken in
You can stay a while
Knowing you denied a part of me
– Rupika Moitra
