Monday 22 November 2021

Transplant

 

The heart has a wholly separate system -

it doesn’t root as quick as the feet transport

the body, its mask and its complex garment

across walls and borders, from port to port.

The body has its cravings and its comforts -

it finds its substrates and grows its meristem

 as its bent for melancholy is short.

Not so the heart. Less neat, more insistent

 

on taking its time for both sad and happy,

on culturing its own substrates for growth,

on waiting by dark walls and strange, perched moths.

It suspects clean ends, prefers old and shabby –

stays with the frayed threads of the well-known cloth.

Turns on its axis to make its own true north.


5 comments:

  1. And sends down phenomenally deep roots.

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  2. It keeps on beating no matter whether we're sad or happy.

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  3. Hi Nila - 'turns on its axis to make its own true north' ... our heart remembers and loves always ... excellent, as too EC and Denise's comments ... so true to life. Thank you - Hilary

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  4. This one is deep. Ditto on Hilary, et al's comments. And there's always a heart flutter too - butterflies or trouble...

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  5. Hi Nilanjana, I loved this sonnet particularly these lines
    "It suspects clean ends, prefers old and shabby –

    stays with the frayed threads of the well-known cloth." Really spoke to me.

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