I fall on the ground like a glass

That you dropped from your hands,

With a percussive sound like the grand end of a song

I shatter Into cold sharp pieces,

My feelings swirl and spill all over the floor

Like wine, staining everything red.

Spots of my feelings on the rug,

On the furniture, on your shoes,

Everything smells pungent.

You cut your hands trying to pick up my pieces,

Now there is blood on the floor,

Our home looks like a crime scene next morning,

You pick up the glass, I clean the rugs and the furniture

You put me back together and hold me so tight 

My broken pieces stick back together

Then I nurse your cuts with love and put myself in your hands again,

All things returned to their places and it looks like a home again.

No one can promise no accidents along the way, no disaster,

But an unspoken promise of staying after,

Of fixing what gets broken, of healing each other,

That we keep each time

Keeps us together,

Makes us holy.



Daily Prompt –Percussive

Photographer Unknown
Poetry © Copyright 2017, Niharika Jaiswal