Madira

I don’t remember when the first sip

touched the young, unassuming lip.

With the years, the memories fade,

with every passing day a beaten mind that jades.

 

The first time it tastes bitter,

leaving you with not much to titter.

You take another one, entirely by yourself

and suddenly you realise, that you are hardly yourself.

 

With time it becomes easy

and you don’t feel any queasy.

It starts always, with ‘just one’,

and without you knowing, moves to a ton.

 

Slowly and really, it tightens its grip

on our mind and body, sip by sip.

Before you know it, it stops feeling like pain.

And every effort to wean away only goes in vain.

 

Don’t ask me to share with you my drink,

it is not what you think.

For we must reap what we have sown,

my happiness is all yours and my sorrow, my own.

 

They say it is bad to drink,

and that it pushes you to the brink.

Yet, what one doesn’t know or think, is that it is sorrow –

that veritably causes you to sink.

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4 thoughts on “Madira

  1. Very well expressed. Thank god, husband’s whisky makes him puke if taken more than limit. He has it occasionally. I never liked even wine! The last line worries me, Dharma.

  2. The fifth stanza intrigues: “it is not what you think” struck me that one could substitute any “vice” or “virtue” for the word drink, but that’s just an aside. What’s really on is the truth of the last stanza. Bad choices, relationships, sieges, goals foiled, hopes faded, disappointments… It all beats a body down over time… Me, I don’t take all that well, and I’m certain I’d sink without that “no better thing under the sun” : )

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