I Would Make It Feel Beautiful

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: May 04, 2018

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Submitted: May 04, 2018



If I had a dead flower in my hand; I would plant it in the soil; for it to spread its lingering redolence; and at the same time proliferating several of its kind,

If I had a bulky sheaf of scribbled paper in my hand; I would erase all the obnoxious literature embedded; rendering the same immaculate and spotless for reuse,

If I had infinite pieces of shattered glass in my hand; I would coalesce them all together; metamorphosing them to form a scintillating mirror,

If I had an injured pigeon in my hand; I would inundate his wounds with omnipotent soil; impregnating in him the power to fly high and handsome again,

If I had lifeless follicles of hair in my hand; I would scrub them tenaciously with flamboyant antiseptic; to make them glisten again,

If I had fetid and rotten vegetables in my hand; I would soak them in fresh
water; then put them beneath stringent rays of the sun to wholesomely fumigate them,

If I had a dilapidated and pulverized brick in my hand; I would fortify it with reinforced cement to make it withstand the most torrential of thunder,

If I had an acrimonious chunk of thorn in my hand; I would coat it with a sheet of sparkling honey; then offer the same to famished insects loitering through the
dusty streets,

If I had a deflated balloon in my hand; I would stuff it with free air; to augment it to robust proportions,

If I had splinters of bedraggled cloth in my hand; I would refurbish them into a composite garment; using my steel bodkin and spools of thread adroitly,

If I had disdainful saliva in my hand; I would make optimum use applying the
same to the tainted windshield of my car; thereby creating a few pellucid spots amidst the sea of camouflaging dust,

If I had venomous tobacco leaves in my hand; I would incinerate them to create
a crackling bonfire; granting scores of people reprieve from freezing currents of austere winter,

If I had a ominous revolver in my hand; I would embed slices of piquant tomato
in the place of lead bullets; then play with the same amongst a bunch of innocuous children,

If I had squelched pulp of raw sewage in my hand; I would use the same for sprinkling commensurately between the plants; strengthening their roots with a
blend of nutritional elements,

If I had an ensemble of incongruously hard stones in my hand; I would submerge
them in shallow streams of placid water; to make the shrunken surface
dramatically swell,

If I had blistering hot acid in my hand; I would disseminate the same into thirsty desert sands; which would greedily absorb the same with loads of gratitude,

If I had rusty bells in my hand; I would strike them together to pierce the still ambience with an enigmatic and jingling sound,

If I had an obnoxious mosquito on my hand; I would place him in a pool of frosty milk; for him to greedily savor the stupendous taste of life,

If I had gruesomely fractured bones in my hand; I would perseveringly mold
them; resurrect them with scrupulous care; to make them walk again,

And even if I had the most hideous looking entity in my hands; I would still make it feel beautiful; by embellishing it with the garment of my love; encapsulating its
body with unprecedented care.

© Copyright 2019 Nikhil Parekh. All rights reserved.

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