Deep Recess
What you can never say, can still be said. What is understood, well . . .Archive for Human
Dove
In my being me you saw someone else and held a mirror to my face. I saw that and what I saw in that mirror reflected on me. I became a different me. When I became that me, I did not recognise myself in my mirror. I remained a stranger to myself. For a while. The me in my mirror then reflected back on me and I become the me that I used to be.
But I lost some of the me that I was. I am now me, but parts of me, I don’t recognise.
I wear makeup now, till my real me shines back again.
Vortex
And that day, I decided I will keep
Yet the silent punishment seemed harsh. I quiet.
with. good reason. I knew, somehow, had I
begin For it in. Like instantly, to would
to it. Drink spiral. a I endure not
mistake swallow out. it let couldn’t it say
my and inside all it take however, a
was It me. hurt it if Even word.
Of Things
Of retired Gods; reluctant Gods
Of being pulled out of retirement
Of seeing the smoggy cityscape from a clear village sky
Of believing: in yourself and others’ belief in you
Of empty celebrations
Of tentativeness
Of being true, to yourself and others
Of new heavens
Of wishful abodes
Of getting there, or not
Of feet heavy as lead
Of hearts heavy with baggage
Of undoing yourself; being yourself
But mostly
Of Clay Gods, made every year, immersed ten days later, forgotten for 355 days.
Deafening Silence
As if it was an oxymoron. He laughed out loud – he needed to know if his ears were capable of listening to that which came from without. The silence is without, the shrieks, within.
All the voices that he would have otherwise heard from without were screaming gibberish within. Imagined gibberish, at that, for he could not decipher what was the sound of imagination and reality. The only real thing were his ears. He touched and felt them to reassure their existence.
The voices of yearning continued their loud babble, irrespective.
Three Spaces
Anger on the palm of the hand, transferred hard on the middle of the steering wheel. Rain lashed hard in the small tanks of water it created where once roads were. The big heavy drops make the tin roof tremble, my heart shudders in the middle of the wet night.
I saw multiplicity of my past life through a blackened window car. I saw myself standing there on the street, looking at myself. I didn’t smile, nor did I look away. I just looked as if multiple tenses stood there together hand in hand.
Three spaces strung on a string of the dimension of time.
Let Humans Be
God’s access is omnidirectional. He receives prayers and sends blessings in all directions – in all possible ways.
Humans, at best, are bidirectional. Before we expect a human to act and behave like God, it bodes well for us to think and recognise what a particular human is capable of.
Making God of a human doesn’t make him God – it makes the human miserable.
