Don’t tell me God doesn’t weep;
these fallen stars
to tears shed
and your wish upon a shoot-ing star
remains in vain
Hopes and dreams and desires
are nothing more than flecks
of dust, littered across the night sky
that you no longer recall
This velvet suffocates-
No fairy dust to light the way
a hindrance in the philosophy
we no longer wish
Throughout the years of our life, we come across different people. I firmly believe that while there may be many, you can always categorize them into two groups. There are those that stand strong like ‘oaks’, deeply rooted into the ground. And then there are ‘weeds’ that grow in the moments where you ignored and changed route – ‘growing in the wrong place’.
Weeds will always fester, and like poison attach themselves, eating away at all the good. Unless you don’t make the active effort to pull them out and chuck them away, they will remain. But once the weeds are pulled out from the ground, they are pulled out from your life as well.
The oaks however, unlike the weeds hold more eminence. Their loss is not insignificant like the weeds’. It is commonly wondered, “If a tree falls in the forest with no ears to hear does it make a sound. It matters not for the tree has fallen.”The obvious, scientific answer would be a resounding ‘yes’. But that sound unheard would not remain unfeeling in the heart. The true answer actually does not lie in the sound but rather the fallen tree – the unmistakable loss of the tree.
An oak may never have the power like the weed to disappear. An oak with always make its presence, or lack of, be known. The lush forest will may appear the same to untrained eyes of an outsider, but for those who live within its depths, the loss will be imposing.
This brings into question why it is always considered a ‘family tree’. Drawn on paper is a great sturdy oak that branches across the page as the family grows. That single truck holds everyone together but the loss brings everyone tumbling down.
We all resume life after the death of an oak, a loved one who held importance in our life, but are we ever able to extract ourselves from the legacies that they leave behind? Your oak need not be famous; their legacy could simply be living. The loss of that one person in our life is like losing the whole forest, leaving behind barren land that cultivates no life.
Life is never the same. Slowly, traditions start to die down. They almost seem trivial and time consuming, things that we rationalize with ourselves that we no longer need to do. Sometimes, it is that single person who was the last piece in the jigsaw puzzle and with them gone, the puzzle forever remains incomplete. That single piece possessed the power to bring forth a landscape that had mesmerizing qualities and with it gone, the rest of the puzzle begins to dull in comparison.
The family is no longer complete. Relations are no longer complete. The oak’s roots were what prevented relations to drift away and with it gone, the landslides of strife and missed connections come to play.
The disappearance of the weed causes no loss to land, to life, to love. It is the oak that holds the power to make true loss felt.
Today life consists of falling in love 140 characters at a time and proposing through status updates. Your friends, popularity and likeness are measured through the number of likes and comments. Every aspect of your life is infiltrated by others and so, how could religion stay far behind.
Social media has always had its highs and its lows, and while it has worked to salvage misconceptions and ideals, it also has worked to create unnecessary fear and hate. Don’t tell me I’m going to Hell just because I scroll past the Holy picture that you’ve shared. Don’t promise me Heaven if I do continue the chain and share it. None of these outcomes were ever in your hands. And our piety cannot be measured this way.
Instead of being pious in the eyes of God, you work to appear pious in the eyes of the world. And then follows your innate need to flaunt this piety making others out to be sinners in your eyes. Religion should not be measured through the horn that you blare all over your timeline. The sheer volume of your voice does not constitute anything. This itch that you constantly feel to ‘save’ people only proves the kind of person that you are.
#Blessed has become more a part of our lives than the simple, private act of thanking God of bestowing His blessings upon us. Don’t recount your blessings by making it a public matter because it brings into question just exactly what you’re trying to prove and show to the world. Religion has never not been complicated and we’re all in the midst of learning, always will be learning. It’s hard enough loving yourself but when people make you out to be sinful, it becomes all the more difficult.
Religion has always been this beautiful, private relationship that we have with God. Don’t make it perverse by attaching multiple partners. The power lies in the silence of a voice that requires no sound. God ain’t your trophy wife to show off to the world.
There were moments in our life where we wanted to play God,
And we pressed flowers into books
Preserving, making the mortal immortal
Only to feel powerful in a world
That continued to take us apart,
One petal at a time.
She burns lavender incense
To fill her lungs with silent hope
They said it would help,
Help her remember
Bring back memories
Clear her thoughts so jumbled
Like hair knotted together over years of ignorance
and her fingers will try to do the job
Combing, combing, combing
That’s what her life has become
Lavender incense in the morning,
In the afternoon,
In the evening
All in the solemn hope of rectifying
A past so jumbled,
Navigating turns into claustrophobia.
There is a belief that I stand by,
that there is something waiting at the end of the line.
All these tests and tribulations can’t be for nothing.
The belief that even though what appears to be the end of the road, shouldn’t be. I haven’t finished running this race, even though often enough my lungs give out and the air foreign to my tastes, but still. I want to stand firm in my belief that there is something else waiting for you.
The sea never stops lapping at the shore even though each time the pull is stronger, a reminder that the comfort it yearns for is always yanked from its fingertips. And yet, it keeps coming back like a lover that can never seem to understand the word ‘no’ because his heart is no longer his.
I want to believe that good things come to those who wait and that patience isn’t solely a virtue rather a gift that sets us apart from the rest because we refuse to give up knowing well that the milk will always come to boil.
I remember anxiety and hope. Complete opposites yet always together. The heart never forgot to crave the sun after the storm.
And I don’t want to believe that God forgot to set out an adventure for me. I refuse to believe that he didn’t plan for my greatness. And I pray that He still believes in me and has something wonderful in store for me. Something I could never even imagine for myself. Something that brings me pure joy. Something that leaves me successful and prospering in this life.
I’m starting to think the art of chasing dreams should come with a manual – ‘Chasing Dreams for Dummies’.
They say I’m filled with poison
Blood never flowed through me
And instead of crimson
Blue and green and yellow
How it is I
Who spreads toxins
That make breathing
In your presence difficulty, that
Fighting for air
In a world
Submerged in water-
Not knowing how to swim
How my negativity
Infecting one organ
And then latching onto the rest
Till the only solution
And maybe Snow White
Isn’t simply a fairytale
But the bitter truth laced
Within an apple so red
It can only be considered evil
How I started wars
Where losing a limb
Became second nature
And lives were protected
By eradicating and exterminating
To us temptation
Wrapped in a red bow
When it became okay
To inject venom
Turning brother against brother
Giving a new meaning to
Blood is thicker than water
How this poison
Became our elixir
To a life well lived
With a dial that never stopped spinning
And I swear we craved it
We flew too close
Yes, I am filled with poison
No, definitely we all are
Because our houses
Wave a flag
Adorned with a skull and bones
And poison may just be our reality.