one night i stopped being alive
but the next morning i was revived;
i found myself in the city of shalim,
bleeding, disbelieving, without sight,
lost and confused, tired and abused,
searching for hope, asking for peace,
in a city the world was fighting for,
in a city i’ve never been to before.
my eyes were dead, but i was alive once again,
and the darkness slowly drove me insane.
and then i heard a voice,
from the skies, calling my name,
“do you want to be a god?
just believe it is not a game.”
i believed, and then i could see,
after a blinding light shone at me;
the light shone at the truth
(a saint, i will never be)
and casted shadows at the lies
(they are lies, always have been)
i’ve been raised up to believe,
without questioning, out of fear
of god’s wrath in hell,
and his men’s anger in here.
i’ve never felt as afraid as i felt back then,
when i stood there, watching his men.
and then i heard a voice,
from beneath my feet, whispering,
“is a god what you truly want to be?
just be ready for the responsibility.”
one night i chose to stop being alive,
the next morning i was thrown back into life;
i worried and thought carefully
for a moment that lasted an eternity;
i’d never let a man **** in my name,
or treat a human life like a game.
i’d never summon a lethal flood,
or a drought without a drop of rain.
so i said yes and took a leap of faith,
and a god i learned how to be.
but if a child wore a mask, they’d still be
a child in a mask pretending to be somebody.
so in jerusalem, in the city of peace,
a city where i’ve never been,
i learnt to love and create;
i created my own deen.
(but, please, don’t you think that for a moment
being revived was something i ceased to regret.)
