The great divide, the fractured crust we grasp
As the fruits spill out and leave their stains on you
The clean and gleaming marble; they poison and clasp
What remains of dignity, of trust and truth.
Yet when that divide I cross to reach that plane
With open arms and open hearts am I met
And the sweetness remains on the most heinous stain
As the fruits, though spilt, upon my plate softly set.
Then to which false conscience do we turn and shout
Perfection and virtue is the only way to stay?
When a pastry itself may turn our minds inside out
And upon our tongues a slice of vagueness lay, you see:
In the face of all the maddening waste we eye
Human suffering and love in a broken pie.
-Shashank Dwivedi
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