But misery loves company
Like the devil loves doing evil deeds
Blasphemy, Blasphemy, Blasphemy
The poor man screams
He lost all his faith in his belief
A perfect world to him, is but a dream
He was once a preacher, a holy man
But he couldn’t go on and pretend the world wasn’t damned
So he took a box of matches and set his church on fire
And stayed until the raging flames that destroyed, had tired
He stood there with no one around
And laughed to himself while it burned to the ground
The only witness, he was, to his faith’s demise
Adorned is soot and ashes, he kissed it goodbye
Levitated by the devastation
He, holy man, emancipated
He ate from the devil’s hand who fed him temptation
Unable to escape the red man’s penetration
He, holy man, whose heart swelled with fire
Confess to him, no more, for he is a liar
A holy man afraid of water
Too dirty to cleanse, God disowned him as his Father
So now he roams the streets alone, without a soul
Because he sold it to the devil only a few days ago
For freedom, he thought in return he would get
Deceived by the devil who knew he’d lose the bet
The devil smiled grimly, for he knew he had won
Holy man, oh holy man, what have you done?
On a Sunday, you sold it, for barely anything
Because you thought in the end, you would feel complete
And now you’ve got nothing, how do you feel?
Freedom from God has lost its appeal
Sleep among the ashes of your church you burnt down
As the devil and his friends will dance and hover around
You cannot escape for you are a prisoner forever
The devil will remind you, he will make sure you remember
Caught in between an unparalleled universe
Where young meets old
Two worlds apart
Joined by a bridge
Of blood and heart
But you and I are not different
We were all born
And we all die
I hang from every word
As he tries to catch his breath
He holds my hand and caresses my face
Marking this moment as bittersweet
A moment I want to run from
A moment I can’t erase
And although he is weathered and tired
He is full of life when he smiles
He grips my hand tightly
It’s his way of telling me not to worry
But when I look into his eyes I see Fear
Cancer is a bully
Time is flying by
It’s shortened when death meets life
A Rolodex of memories flashes before my eyes
He asks Why do I have to work hard to die?
My eyes are damp
Because of what I cannot change
Because of what cannot be undone
Cancer has won
I pray that God won’t give you what I can’t beat
Words of selflessness
I feel defeat
Is there a God? I ask myself
How could he rob a gentle man
Of his health?
He looks into my eyes
And says Where there is a beginning, there is an end
He has faith that where there is love
Hearts can mend
(Photo credit: annstreetstudio.com)
I stand here before you
I can’t run anymore. I don’t have the strength to climb
So I descend, from your pillar of shame
I scrounge for whatever bravery I can scrape from the ground, starving for what I have never tasted:
I look up, and there you are
Again and Again and Again
You present yourself unannounced, following my every move- mocking me. Taunting me. You stand behind a protective layer of glass, far from my reach, where my hands have the desire to choke you. And the desire to smother your face.
That is everyday
I am afraid of everyday.
You’re everything I don’t want to be, are the words that roll off of my tongue, naturally
With truth. And with conviction. Without effort
“Look a little closer”
I refuse to look within her prying eyes…
Deny Deny Deny
Two fingers, which I have declared to the world by pointing them in a V, are now used to demonstrate the opposite of peace. They cover my eyes from what I don’t want to see, because I am at war with myself.
The girl in the mirror knows
And you caused it.
Her eyes insist a kind of honesty I have replaced with animosity. The girl in the mirror has changed
I refuse to follow.
I refuse to look.
I refuse to engage.
She disappears behind a layer of fog I have marked with each exhaled breath.
Unable to see her
I find comfort.
Face your fears- we are told. And so I’ve heard.
But what if the fear I face is… me?
And who the hell was I
In front of you
When it was all a waste of time.
Who are you to inspect my mind?
You’re not inclined to think like I
I and I
We meet with eyes
Eyes, which are the window to your soul
A soul, which you do not have
My soul you will never steal
For you are
The girl in the mirror.
(Photo Credit: annstreetstudio.com)
Above roofs of the same looking houses
Was a sound that pierced the sky.
A mechanical bird,
And cawed the sound of grinding motors
And propellers, which roared
Look at me I’m flying.
A million little sound bytes crackled in the sky
And fell through the air
Like torrential rain
And penetrated the walls around us
And the shelf above our heads.
The invasive sound brought life to objects
While we lay still holding our breath.
We absorbed the vibrations
And images, like the ones we had seen earlier
And people covering their eyes and ears in terror.
In the dark
We listened to the activity around us
Conceiving thoughts like
There is danger outside
We are not safe
There he was- a remarkable man; a savior who embodied calamity, conviction and intuition. Bewildered. She stared at him closely. She allowed her eyes to absorb the very nature of the man she did not know. Guarded. Her lungs absorbed an energy, a force, which was transparent in the open space between them. Inexplicable. Astounded by his ability to touch her soul, she ran. She ran into the open field, where fog thickly blanketed the air. She didn’t know where she was running to. All she could be certain of was that she was running from a stranger who made her feel like he knew her far too well.
Out of breath and out of time, she fell to her knees and threw her body to the ground. Afraid he may find her lying there, she grabbed onto the thin blades of grass, which demonstrated the only proof that wind existed, and pleaded with the man above to help her. She dug her face in the dirt and smelled the earth, ready to become a part of it and fearful she was fated to die. Silence became her. She could hear his body moving closer to where she lay. She dug her face deeper into the ground, reluctant; for she did not want her eyes to witness herself become a victim. She felt him standing over her. She held her breath and begged her body to rid itself of sensation. She became numb. Unable to sense what was going to happen next, she lay still, ill prepared to become his prey.
He stood there without much to say as he admired her in a submissive state. He was saddened by it. She lay there before him, withered, helpless and frightened. He could sense her loss of innocence, her obsession with self-destruction and her commitment to freedom and everything wild and free. He knelt next to her and asked if she was alive. She didn’t answer.
Somewhere amidst the chaos in the world, in their world, they found each other. It’s as if fate had magically worked itself out, as it usually does, bringing two lonely strangers to a place where being a nobody had lost its relevance. She hadn’t quite realized that her life had passed her by. She hadn’t realized that she wasn’t quite so little anymore. She had discovered that all was not right in the world. This became quite shocking for a frail girl with big eyes, a hungry heart and thirst for imagination. There, in the dirt, she lay disconnected from the outside world, in a tall field of grass listening to the crickets speak in unison with the speed of the wind. There was nothing ordinary about being ordinary to her. She forgot what it was like to change and be different, or perhaps it was the world she lived in that made it appear as though she hadn’t changed at all. She didn’t seem complacent or worrisome, yet there was a particular sadness that followed her- a certain kind of sadness that became addictive. Was she living to die or dying to live? Perhaps her blank face and routine days echoed a simple, yet profound statement about living such an ordinary life. Was she so different than the rest of her suburban neighbors? Undoubtedly no. Confined to this world, she became so plain because plain is all she could be if it meant blending in with a very, very unpromising Suburbia.
Although she hadn’t said a word about anything above, he was well aware of who she was and how she got there. He was intrigued. He lit a cigarette and handed it to her, “Now finish your story.”
Violated. He had violated her mind. Although she felt naked, she was compelled to finish where his ability to read her mind, had left off.