In spite of these catastrophes,
holocausts and disasters;
the adverse calamities
and endless ever afters;
despite (or because) of these,
we shelter in one Temple,
spreading over seven seas,
we're God's own chosen people.
There are eclipses no sky records.
The kind that passes through the body
without warning~
a sudden dimming
of what I thought I understood.
Sometimes it’s a memory
sliding between me and the present,
blue-dark and familiar,
carrying its own gravity.
Sometimes it’s a silence
from someone I love,
a shadow cast across the heart
that makes everything else
go briefly still.
Curiosity rises in these moments~
not the bright kind,
but the quiet wondering
of what part of me
is being asked to change.
I’ve learned that human eclipses
aren’t catastrophes.
They’re thresholds.
They ask me to stand in the dimness
long enough to see
what the light was hiding.
And when the shadow moves on,
I don’t return to who I was.
I step into illumination,
carrying the shape of the dark
as part of my own orbit.
When there is a lot to handle in life,
And catastrophes going on inside my mind..
I turn inwards, seeking for a sign.
The mountain of failures piled high
Like a castle, look me dead in the eye.
Could’ve beens and should’ve beens;
Written all over them like splattered ink on walls.
I retrospect and reflect on them.
Not pushing them away,
Merely trying to hold them in place.
The failures that once intimidated me,
Tell me tales of bravery and resilience.
They narrate the story of a battle well fought;
The scars etched in my heart;
Portray the image of a warrior,
Who never surrendered.
It is on days like this;
That I bleed ink.
The veins cut open,
Like a wound waiting to heal.
The only difference is that,
They bleed ink.
I bleed ink because it is the only way I thrive.
I put up a fight with my caricature of words,
That one cannot easily survive.
I bleed ink because it makes me feel alive.
Every city possesses such a person.
You rarely notice them.
They occupy no headlines,
command no armies,
leave no monuments of marble.
Yet somehow the world remains intact
because they exist.
The woman who remembers birthdays
others have abandoned.
The janitor who speaks kindly
to midnight loneliness.
The baker rising before dawn
to prepare warmth for strangers.
The teacher who notices
the child vanishing into the margins.
Their deeds are lanterns
too modest for celebration.
Still, when darkness advances,
it is these quiet flames
that prevent the night from inheriting everything.
History prefers kings and catastrophes.
But civilization survives
upon the shoulders of those
who practice unnoticed mercy.
. for public domain
I envy Anne in so many ways:
The ways she renders catastrophes
into bright and sunny days;
Her coming back to my side
through cruel and merciless raves,
leaves me in constant shame.
So I live a life of endless sweet regret
that she endures me lovingly,
and will always love me yet.
The Invisible Strings of Black Light
I sing my mute blizzard on the stiffened string of full void,
the shrill echo of silence gently undoes time's curtain for me,
like a luminescent howl from a transparent sarcophagus,
that aspirates my breath through the pores of an effervescent abyss,
cacophonic symphony of angels with wings of calcified plague,
conducted by white crows singing in psalms of evaporated matter,
adorned with the phosphorescent keyboards of the abyss-color,
that blinds with its radiant blackness any lucid non-seeing,
abstract paintings of crystallized tears in dried blood,
a hypnotic rodeo of petrified butterflies in arrested flight,
metaphysical courtesans of a sterilized and eternal amor,
king without crown in the kingdom without throne and without stern,
where love is an amnesia that remembers everything in forgetting,
and presence is no longer needed to always be living disappearance,
my sinusoidal trajectory through a crystal of solid fog,
that wove our eternity into an exploded second,
to the nectarous curses floating through your granite thoughts,
the mosaic of my solar nights with fate's luminous catastrophes!
‘ Flowers fade and decay through wintry hours - waiting for rebirth.’
Quote by Constance
Evolution and Extinction
always running in Distinction.
Nature continues to form and decay,
then reforms day by day.
Nature is acting versatile.
Sometimes barren, sometimes fertile.
Diversity in Flora and Fauna
in contoured arena.
Mother Earth acting productive
Whimsical, also selective.
Blessings of Nature flow in opulence
and Energy immense.
Energy comes from Air, Water
and oblivious major is Solar.
Catastrophes appear to extinct species
saving Eco- crisis.
Cycle of birth and death continues.
Then rebirth follows to renew
the cycle ever and ever.
Nature acts clever.
What Coming?
I can’t believe this world. Everything has changed. Why?
Just bad news from every media. Wars, catastrophes, death.
Unbelievable, the people. They don’t care about the negative things.
They live in their happy weekdays. Blindness is the ruler.
Day to day, week to week, more and more, the horror from the news.
People can stop everything. Only together. But how? Hmm. How?
Nobody sees the crisis. Hmm. Oh, happy weekdays and noisy weekends.
People love it. Barbecue, drink, party, night desire. Yeah, this is the present of humanity.
What about the future? What?
They don’t care.
Coming the last time.
End.
The sun will sleep.
Dark clouds in the sky.
They said grief was loud.
Mine came in whispers—
soft as moths
chewing through my ribcage
one memory at a time.
There are rooms I can’t enter.
Not because the doors are locked—
but because your ghost
sits there,
drinking my silence.
I carry you in the ache behind my smile,
in the second spoonful of coffee
I don’t pour anymore.
I still sleep on one side of the bed.
The other stays cold
out of respect.
People ask how I’m doing
and I become fluent in lies.
“I’m okay,” I say,
while my hands script elegies
into the folds of my jeans.
I wish I could mourn you loudly,
like the sky does with thunder.
But instead I break
in small, polite
catastrophes.
The worst part?
You didn’t even die.
You just left.
And somehow,
that feels more violent.
"Out to Sea"
In the immediate times
we rush to consume it all
before it is all swallowed, and out it all comes salty,
like an Ocean pummelling our crumbling sures
eating away our solidarity
insouciantly the sandy impermanent escarpment caves in
on our gossamer dissolving world
and in the eye of the storm
in the middle of it all
for a small moment all is calm
while the catastrophes move blithely around us,
hitting us brashly like we’ve been hit on a caffeine high
we are simultaneously aware of time standing still and then,
the swift pull of a rug unceremoniously out beneath our feet
some strange gravity slides
towards that ridiculous prophecised inevitability
of kingdoms come and gone
we thought we knew everything
the truth is we were the dumb awake
knowing little of everything
and much of what mattered little
and all as one
we are drowned soundly, gladly,
like into an open-eyed baptismal grave
we are forever and ever
naked as a child
washed clean
out to sea
Candide Diderot. ‘25
(Prompt: Wisdom is not enough to calm your fears.)
The kinetic world is on a great sprint.
The silent seer stares at with a squint.
He feels distressed for the occurring harms.
With a solemn demeanour, he alarms.
Identity crises among nations
Contending with insecure relations
Keep their voices go with sonority
For comfort and self-based priority
Within countries, separatists conspire
Catastrophes are adding fuel to fire
Forcing uniformity – a threat
It's never too late to change the mindset
Creative destruction is invited.
Creating mess is to be indicted.
Agape love can alone wipe away tears
Wisdom is not enough to calm your fears.
I poison myself to endure the torments of my clairvoyant mind,
A journey littered with catastrophes and irreversible scars.
I chase nightmares I will find in hell,
My face drowned in the fleeting vanities humanity sanctifies.
I am in no rush to honor my appointment with the reaper,
Like a terminally ill patient who still dares to dream.
I am trapped in an asylum where appearances and masks
Are the mirrors of madness.
I burn my neurons with cannabis
To find beauty in the ugliness of my surroundings.
My indelible scars are searing reminders of my insignificance.
I have tamed the violence of silence
To anesthetize my demonic urges.
I trust not in human frailty,
Like a bipolar paranoiac.
The darkness of the furnaces of the bearer of light
Shines deep in my eyes.
I am a solitary soul, persecuted
By its demons and ghosts.
The melancholy of my heart has chained
My mind to the depths of bitterness.
My life on Earth has been infernal torture
Since the day I let out my first cry.
I am compelled to sow the seeds of chaos
In this dimension, to unlock the gates of immortality.
A symphony of blasphemies, to discover every fragrance of freedom.
I sing Shahana Bahar, a malody of delight.
It echoed aloud, Marwa, music of sadness-filled plight
I laugh aloud and I hear it back as a scary scream
My gleam of glee turns into hallucinatory dream
Each false virtue that I hate haunts me like a hounds unbound.
Trust and mistrust amalgamate and make meaningless sound.
The impressions I form to attract all, impress no one
Amidst my endless fights, no inner battles I have won.
Efforts that give the illusion of success often fail.
Why does fate prompt me to upset the boat when I still sail?
Convictions are converted into crude catastrophes.
Punctuations of quotations close as apostrophes
With silences of bridge, ledge, and edge, badge, bodge, and budge clash
Amidst pitch dark clouds torches of light as thunderbolts flash
Sounds of church bells peal from graves where tolling knells are hidden.
Though echoes sound true, is disclosure of truth forbidden?
As life’s storms get stronger,
Hold hands together in prayer;
No catastrophes can annihilate us,
If our top foundation is Jesus;
If we lift our tough brotherhood,
Among us builds a stone-walled abode.
September 21 Praises to God Bible Meditations Based on Joel 1-3
Key Verse – Joel 1:19 O LORD, to thee will I cry: for the fire hath devoured the pastures of the wilderness, and the flame hath burned all the trees of the field.
PRAISE BE TO GOD FOR HEARING OUR CRY
Praise be to God for hearing our cry of:
Faith to flourish by His faithfulness
Fervency for His fruitfulness-fulfillment
Flight toward His freedom against futility
Fight against fear by His force midst fatigue
Faults along His forgiveness to flee from frustration
Joel 2:13 Praise be to the Lord being gracious
and merciful, always:
Securing our salvation-settlement
Sanctifying us from selfishness-strife
Sufficing us with His satisfaction-supply
Strengthening us by His Scripture-statutes
Stabilizing us for steadfast service-stewardship
Joel 3:16 Praise be to the Saviour for
He is our hope against:
Catastrophes causing to us crises
Curses clinging to our chastisements
Conflicts contending with our cravings
Clamors creeping against our contentment
Calamities creating our cries for His compassion. Amen!
September 21, 2024
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