By Devika Brendon,
There it is, again, the self that is not shy
That has held back – not out of fear – but
Out of a desire that the blow not go awry;
Motivated by a different kind of restraint.
Papered over, embossed with cruelty,
Adorned with a signature sense of glee
At the ease with which suffering can be
Inflicted, projected, cast, imprinted:
The way an impact can taint.
Callousness, the thin skin broken time and again,
Impervious to anything now:
Insult, disdain, and – like a soft refrain
In a pure metal song –
The tenderness of love
Beyond all intended harm and wrong.