We were boys, once.
Our mother liked to dress us in tailored suits and leather shoes.
Every Sunday morning. Ready bright and early for mass at 11.
We'd sit in the classroom at the back of the old church hall.
After mass. After the chatter of voices hushed down to whispers; virtuous gossip.
Our teacher fed us images of hellfire and brimstone.
Sex and sin.
Satan in a red cape and Halloween horns.
He didn't always look like that.
Oh, no. Mother said that he'd come out all dressed in a suit like mine.
He'd be handsome! His voice would be a choir of one billion damned souls and once you'd hear it, you'd never want it to stop.
In my eight-year-old mind, I wondered what he did and what he felt when his own father cursed his name.
Did he stare at his dad with his thousand-eyes? Did he protest?
Did he laugh as he fell? In a cascade of feathers and blood.
Maybe he was better off without him.
He'd spend the rest of eternity trying to prove his father wrong. That he was worthy of his love:
That he would be the only son to grieve for the mistake of humanity.
The holy adversary.
The one who would shout his love for The Lord until his throat cracked dry and his chest ached. He, who could see the suffering of his father's own creations.
He, who tempted Eve and proved God wrong and we were flawed from the very beginning. Did he watch Eve eat the apple and savor every bite?
He loved his father.
Did he deserve it?
I stopped going to church on my eighteenth birthday.
What kind of parent would damn one son and praise the other?
Who would let one son be nailed to a board and the other to rot in flames?
Even as a child, I knew.
Through every slap, scold and bruise.
I would never bow.
"Out of dark matter the light will form; every trial has an expiration date."
the kind that's pitch black;
Fierce and formidable chaos
On nights like these
I long for a piece of light,
peace of mind,
a sliver of moonlight
to gleam in the gloom;
an ending to long suffering.
To find shelter
in the open arms of hope,
uplift my soul,
I will cast my burdens
like stones into the riverside,
watch them sink out of sight.
Feast my weary eyes
on the bulb of fireflies,
let my mind break free
explore the astral plane of dreams;
far from view
of obscene reality,
safe and secure,
knowing this too shall pass.
I will escape the empty glass,
elude the shadows overcast;
outgrow the dead grass.
No longer outcast
I will Breathe
and bloom again at last.
Outlast, the storm.
to hold hands with the future undaunted
to grow taller and reach, reach
farther and faster than i thought possible
to make a truce with my griping fears
and leave them behind
to instead embrace the unfathomable
to turn the corner
instead of turning to stone
As the night starts closing in I still sit up to ponder and think about the day, the coming weeks, the next step that I must take. I have dreamed of many things lately, all things that are just dancing in my head and bouncing from side to side....The thoughts bubble up from my soul and turn into things that truly make me tick. I have questions....Why do people act as they do? Is this a coming of a new dark age? What will the history books tell about us? This time around, the world seems to be overflowing with hate, debt, theft and all other forms of evil that come out to show its ugly head. I know that all of these things have been around forever. Far worse in many ways. Where is the love? Where is the compassion for others....animals, people, property etc? The world in general seems to sour more and more with each channel that is added..."KILL YOUR TELEVISION" The news keeps us all in mass hysteria, shifting the herd in a different direction of thought and need. Should we be scared? Should we fight back? Where do we start? Change has come in many ways. I am not saying everything is bad in this world we travel on each day as it loops around in the vast space of life and time. Life is chaos and beauty at the same time all wrapped up in one. You cannot share the good until you have tasted the bad...It is very hard to taste the good when your mouth is filled with hate, or rage, or anger towards others or just life in general. WHO CAN WE TRUST? Open your minds eye, the eye that we all share. Give back to those who take from you. Pray for those who have wronged you. Keep yourself in check and stay above the sink hole that we all call many names. Whatever is bothering you...just let it go. Let it go and enjoy the world for what you can get out of it and see. We are surrounded by so many perfect and beautiful things. Don't take it for granted. Love those who need love. Give hope where you can. Take care of those who seem to struggle with taking care of themselves no matter how hard it may be...I promise this will help you. Give yourself to those who are in need of Love. Fill their cup as much as you can and you will be blessed. You may not feel it at first but you will be rewarded in the end by the master, by mother nature, by others, by karma, by God. Learn to pass the time with thoughts of good things. No worries can get to you when you live in PEACE.
A thousand years hence, we lose our identity.
Never did a genius come for rescue activity.
Never had seen the world since the aftermath,
That deprived us of fresh air to breathe.
At some point of time did our world collapse,
With the forces of nature, burried as corpse,
Except the Dome of a burried temple, yet to be filled,
With a holy Trishul over it - so got another temple built-
The only clue left for our deliverance,
But became the means of worship for the masses.
Clashing with misfortune, nothingness is what we gained,
No one, better than us, can bear the pain,
Of being burried deep under,
Above which people now walk by, cars rush over.
Dreaming a barren hope for an excavation,
With the likes of Mohenjo-daro, Harappan civilization.
Ready to wait for thousand years more,
For the fruit of patience cannot be sour,
That will one day discover a long-lost heritage,
Revealing the descendent of an emerging human race.
I wish to see a world of my dreams
Full of rejoice and sunbeams
I wish to see the children
Not growing like weeds
But like flowers in the orchard of humanity
With adequate feeds
I wish to see the poor's children
Carrying books like me
Unlike their parents working in sun's steam
I wish to see the teens
With footballs rather than
Sweating in the farms with ploughs
I wish I could be the change
That this world of my dreams need
But alas! My friends this only happens
In my dreams .
when we go back in time,
will we find something that is familiar?
will we find a sign?
will we find moments that we can remember?
when our hope is lost,
will we find a way to make it work?
will we care how much it costs?
if we try maybe we'll find our luck.
we will see what others can't see,
we can also be what others can't be,
and still be who we are.
Mind of gold,
teach me how to be numb, how to not feel the cold,
teach me how to be strong, to be brave, to be bold
teach me how to walk, a path , of a story untold
heart of silver,
let my pulse strike and unnerve them, like the hiss of an adder
let my tongue be precise, like the aim of an archer
let my eyes see through deceit, let them be crystal, let them be clearer
Soul of fire,
Let my heart love freely, let it aspire, hope let it acquire
Let my mind be calm, as the bombs drop, and we hear gunfire
Let my voice bring hope, let it sing loud like a choir
Because the situation is dire…