The Bigger Palm Poem by Daipayan Nair

Broken pieces are never shattered
when breaking within
the parameter of a palm.

Something firm like brown
holds the deceptive breakage of black,
distinct dispersion of white
apart from a touch,
a bigger absorbent, in a spread
letting broken links not be forgotten
making them sort their disputes
cancelling one another, but being one
like the hideous network
underneath my skin.

It does matter if the
individual pieces create individual expressions,
each seeking its own volatility
debranched from its separation
like those broken humans
on the breaking of an emotional egg,
the impression of its formation
remains an undeniable palm.
What makes us shatter,
if not the ability to falter
We hate and falter, we love and falter
We begin and falter,
we falter when we begin
Perhaps, we falter, as we never consider our real roots
Egg as a beloved mother, sperm as father, their cumulative flow as a lover
Dealing in bigger bodies,
calls for unequal distributions
When one just believes in a kiss,
one in a face,
one in hands that hug, one in a belly as the truth
one in body, one in soul,
one in both but that of our own.
An accumulation is bound to shatter.

The bigger palm still tries to hold,
all that is solid, out of which,
life gets tougher and fatally easier
each day, as sand.