Whimsical 29: Dissection and the beauty of life

 Inspired by the poem 'Help' by Shel Silverstein shared by a member of the Calm Pages club, I shared this poem on Dissection that I had written in 2023. The club discussed about this poem very excitedly, and we had an online session on this. To gather thoughts of such beautiful souls, I created a Fasano style prompt with help from ChatGPT and here is the prompt:

There was a time I believed all words were __________.

Even __________ felt like a __________ I could carry

without cutting my hands. But then I spoke __________,

and it did not sound like __________, but like __________,

echoing in the hollow of my chest.

Beauty could mean __________,

the kind that __________ and never __________,

but I saw it once in __________, wild and unshaped,

and I knew then that beauty could also mean __________.

So why do we keep carving things

to fit a shape they never asked for?

When I press too deep into a __________ ,

into a __________ , into a __________ ,

am I __________,

or am I only __________?

By dissection, is __________ ,

Or is __________.

Kutta and I tried our hands at this prompt and this is the result:

There was a time I believed all words were tender.

Even knives felt like a cushion I could carry

without cutting my hands. But then I spoke sharply,

and it did not sound like paradise, but like flames,

echoing in the hollow of my chest.

Beauty could mean untouched,

the kind that is pure and never known,

but I saw it once in nature, wild and unshaped,

and I knew then that beauty could also mean adventure.

So why do we keep carving things

to fit a shape they never asked for?

When I press too deep into a  multitude,

into a relationship , into a epoxy resin ,

am I plundering it,

or am I only improving it?

By dissection, is it exploring something new,

Or is destroying things to discover anew.

There was a time I believed all words were meant to heal.

Even rebuke felt like a ladder I could carry

without cutting my hands. But then I spoke reprimands,

and it did not sound like encouragement, but like being nailed on the cross,

echoing in the hollow of my chest.

Beauty could mean hugs and flowers,

the kind that makes eyes sparkle and never steal a smile,

but I saw it once in a bashing rain, wild and unshaped,

and I knew then that beauty could also mean lightning and thunder.

So why do we keep carving things

to fit a shape they never asked for?

When I press too deep into an activity,

into a valley of sorts, or into a mountain of thoughts,

am I seeking the eternal truth,

or am I only circling within my realm of knowledge?

By dissection, is it painful to take the first step ,

Or is it relieving to have pursued till the end and freed. 

I leave it to you to decide who wrote which!