It’s not a sculpture on a dinner plate, on a cruise,
One of those swans which starts dripping
At the end of the journey…
It’s not a bucket filled with ice cubes,
Which turn into water at the end of the party…
It’s not a bag of ice we buy in a rush,
On the way to a block party,
To make sure there is enough
To keep our drinks fresh and tasty
We need ice to maintain a desired standard of living…
The ICE in this poem is not that type,
It’s the type we aquire slowly,
Some of us, not all of us!
An undesired but necessary shapeless,
Yet shaped the way it’s needed,
Piece of Ice…
So cold, no flames could ever melt it!
A heart of Ice,
Its coolness radiates through the whole of me
The hotter the flames,
The colder the ice…
and I feel SAFE at last!