When a Goblet Falls

the goblet tips
falls
no one knows how,

hits the ground
breaks
into a million whys,

a whole lying
in bits
scattered wide,

passerbys scream
beware
the shards,

onlookers paint
a fault
on someone,

while i gently
pick each
broken piece,

lovingly
at what
it meant to me,

releasing it
into the bin
of the past,

once done
the crowd
disperses,

as i silently
assess
the aftermath,

three cuts
mark
my fingertips,

one will heal
but two
will leave a scar,

some pieces
irrespective
of how the glass falls,

as a birthright
always
do leave their mark.

© vidursahdev 2020