and is it really ignorance
to think a tough skin makes frail
the acceptance of rejection? friend, there
is vulnerability in our groins. but after
the phase of pains, if i take rigour,
write to my heart and accept myself. do not
blame cowardice on me? or what again
do you say is weakness to a man
thrown before the reality of his own life?
but life is not good. but life is not bad. is
it not life that has had man cowed by
the contradiction mixed into his morning
of dreams? i am not moved if i am too close
to night. or if i sit indifferent to the news
of how the storm comes and leaves
us homes incomplete— divided into nothing after
every rebuild. night is a promise of silence.
and the moon is a mother who understands
our sighs and tears. not the sun! who masks
us into a face of deception and studs our tears
with drossy gold. and to think we are almost home,
at the end of the ladder, we are always
too late to realize the deception in the replay of a
welcome song. tomorrow, we bid mother again goodbye.
because night is only
what truly ends and ends all things.
where i can weigh my faith. fate and
find the calmness to catch the attention of God for questioning.
on this road, we have heard of falling
mercies. and when we pinch heavens for our
remembrance. what do we get? hail stones and
patience again for a failed hope.
i cannot deny that at this
point i am a contradiction. perhaps,
this is the way life wants me fold. and i am fulfilling.
or i am just tired of life. and the world
is changing. and morbidity is a virtue to crave.
love is dead. and power is intoxication.
do not fear yet. i am not writing you a suicide note.
a child is born. he is crying. there is laughter
in the face of his mother.
a child is grown.
he laughs at the way his dreams recede
like tide. his mother is crying.
and again, all i feel is fear.
of fear.
of morning.
and my heart has not betrayed me, betrayed me.
