Where to plunge?

Go on, this is only your first obstacle,
Thus glittered the first drop from the first cut,
And as I coasted along, another landed,
Go on, the next drop said, and please, watch your step,
And then as I strode came the third, the fourth and fifth,
Now gashes, not the mere forgettable streaks,
Deeper, longer, redder and bloodier, as I stood,
March on, they said, like their fathers, and march on I did,
And then came the stabs and spears, to merrily greet,
Wrapping me in jewels of flowing red, as I now could only meander,
There's light at the end of this dark tunnel, so march on,
They said, and in fine red cloak, march on, I did,
The tunnel ended, and then stood a mountain, for me to climb,
The petrified rocks beneath, adorned many trinkets,
With their many masterly strokes, slashed my sole and heels,
March on, o'er the mountains, there's a brilliant light to see,
They said, I marched on, leaving behind roads of red lanes,
In the end I got to the top, and saw the sun rise,
The sun rose and with its long arms coldly pierced me
Even as I hoped it would embrace and help me heal,
A ray for every cut, gash and wound it set off to probe,
Through my many wounds, my soul's skin it began to peel,
Alas! is it to suffer this shrouding, scorching pain, I winced,
Did I come this far, is this what I endeavoured to gain?
And in what stream of roaring pristine waters,
Should I plunge into, my soul, of all the grime, to clean?

Should I go inland?

Should I go inland? So thought the stranded explorer,
No boat seems to moor, by the creaky pier that ,
I've forever stood on, boats that pass by,
Spout salt water, on me, an already salty soul,
Should I seek a boat on the pier and bear the taunts,
Should I  bear the taunts on the pier, for a boat that'll never moor?
So thought the stranded explorer, Should I just go inland?
So no boats may ever spout for their sport,
Salt, on an already salty decaying soul,
For they know not, what it is to drink more,
Than what their mate can return using pails to the sea,
Should I go inland and forsake the pier,
Who too has taken the salty spouts of sea water,
For no fault of its own, and needing no boat,
For merely being there and merely standing for me.

The Bust of a Man

On a raised fine pedestal,
Of fine stone, clothed in exquisite marble,
Bedecked with ceramic beadings,
Carrying a plaque in fine copper,
With words set in gold and diamonds,
And above it all, a forgettable bust,
Of a man that once lived,not anymore,
Only a bust, not his entire form,
Stands forgotten, as in life,
People walk in to admire the lavishness,
Of all that's around, oblivious of the man on it,
And as they depart and more come in,
The man, nay, bust stands, sans hope or ask,
To be loved over the plaque and pomp,
His heart having been burnt and stashed,
Having become all but a breathing bust,
He stands still in death as he did, in life.

Distance

Maybe the sun,
An astronomical unit away,
Warms more than what's close,
And the moon,
Well not that far,
Cools too, and makes the oceans dance,
Maybe distance is the only thing that counts,
In keeping who matter, as our own,
For it is many feet below and between the fruit and the earth,
To nurture, as roots of the tree, sit the seeds once sown.

Crash into me

When, like a gravity-pulled meteorite,
Will you crash into me, my haven, sublime?
My heart yearns to be scarred and burnt,
To throb in the joy of having taken your fall,
Fear not, that you may land and be shattered,
On solid ground, for I've got many a benevolent sea,
And a lot of snow, powdery, fine and gleaming
For you to land painlessly, that I've let thaw,
For the first time, since when they hardened,
Aeons back, when I hardened, voicelessly,
Like a beggar robbed of his hard begged meal,
So land, without the fear of being burnt,
And without the fear of dismemberment my dear,
So I may, in the crater cradle you'll make,
Let you be, and to all, boast an enviable, dear freckle.