He cracked open 
Those ribs that stood guard 
long years
That protective cage 
Or was it a fortress?
Impregnable walls clothed by skin 
Impervious and unfeeling 
On the outside
A dead sheath 
Hanging over bare bone.

Does one need to barge in
A forced entry, a sharp cut
Spill blood 
To reach where the heart is?
How did it come to be so?
A heart that flutters 
On seeing a flapping butterfly 
Melts on seeing the rising sun, and
Skips a beat on sighting one’s beloved
Now cold and inert.

A mere touch returns a moist signature
Slipping and sliding
Unused to the clasp 
of a warm hand upon it
Or even company that reached that far
Or that close, choose what you will.
The strangeness of it all
Was that a dull murmur he just heard?
A thud on his gloved hand 
A pulsing from the inside?

Suddenly it was all a mystery
A miracle, maybe?
He was spooked and wary 
Was it his touch that revived?
Or was he just weary
The day’s routine, full and dreary
An assembly line of the cold and dead
And just as lifeless, the near dead. 
Work was work
He wasn’t one to shirk.

Expecting four chambers, he peered
And found fourscore and perhaps more
Big and small, bright and dingy
Stacked together, a picture of plenty 
Chambers and vaults 
Of secrets that haunt.
Pandora’s box, or just logs of 
Lust and longing, loss and grieving
Desires and dreams, valour and vulnerability
Lived and languishing?

Walls high and tough, low and weak,
Flexible and steady, breached and leaky,
Smooth and sticky, tidy and icky
With blood of varied sorts—
Warm, cold, dried, 
Dark, pale, deep, 
Congealed, thin, viscous, bubbling
Flowing, flooding, boiling, trickling
Seasons come, and in its wake
The rise and ebb of moods

Venturing into the chambers
Apprehensive and curious
Outside one he read:
‘No Shaolin lived here’ 
No feats, no exploits, no art
A different Braveheart with
Just the willingness to meet
The rough and tumble, the ups and downs
No laurels, no crown, nothing there to go to town
For God’s sake, just pipe down

Another chamber, it seems 
Bore signs of few visitors 
Where a lonely heart resided
In eternal wait for that what’s-up
A call, a message, a post, a photo 
Where a flailing scrap of paper caught the eye
‘I am greedy for your time and attention 
I am not selfish though, just thought to mention
The few hours we meet
See me through for days on end
Then it is back again, blood swells and drains
Waiting for a sign, an assurance from your end’

Further on, a flaming chamber
Of anger and passion
A proud nude on the wall, or a prude in disguise? 
An enigma? Just a wrong call?
Loud screams of offence and outrage! 
‘Voluptuous? Oh, you men! 
Sensuous? I am no object!’
Another voice: ‘But both were expressions
of my fully engaged senses, sweetheart,
that took in your bold lines and evoked the beautiful 
As my soul stirred and rose to its full.’

He caught a glimpse of one partially open
Just enough to see a vehement note in bold:
‘Marriage is a social contract
Not heaven on earth
The morality around fidelity
Just a guilt tripping factory.’
A convenience for protection
Clever controls for possession 
False pretenses for consumption
The Chained heart, where love isn’t.

Venturing further on, this one was dull, not dark,
Heavy and weighed down
By non-specific origins
Of truths too harsh to bare
Of dreams too flighty to dare 
Of suffering too much to hold
Of grief too grown to bear
Of existence too transient to pause
A melancholic heart lay quietly weeping
Faithful to a place of one’s making

Here is one, in a distant corner 
A jumble of things strewn around:
Promises made and seldom kept 
Of potential, past expiry date
Envy too, parked securely
Harsh words and unintended neglect
Good intentions with no helpful effect
Remnants of an imagined intimacy 
Stale relationships past polite courtesy
A dumpyard of the desired and denied
The Messy heart with debris piled.

A chamber, adjacent, bore a note:
‘Dreams never die. 
They are life’s forecast for me
A message of being the chosen one
Seeking my faith, a Steady heart’
With friendly advice:
‘Dreams are not about outcomes
Goals and destinations
But who I turn out to be,
Dreams never die. 
Being a slice of the Grand Design.’

There were more chambers to go
That were way too deep
A lifetime in hidden pockets 
With life lessons replete
He had deadlines to keep
And so beat a retreat
All shut and sewn up, diagnosis wide open
Notes in a heap, and so much to ponder
What conclusions to come to?  So much to discover
A complex human, like every other 

People said of him:
‘He is a man after my heart’
‘In a good way’, they added, just to be clear
He got himself a reputation
For sharp cuts 
And peering into hearts
Beholding mysteries untold 
Long forgotten,
Shining light on some, while
Allowing others, the shade.
For this he was hailed
No wiser man that ever was made.