Existence
Just back from my father's funeral
Devastated looking to his empty bed
Mind scanning so many I lost till now
Perhaps , a few days will make me normal
But the space he left never to be filled.
It's the story of each living in this frame.
Beyond this fleeting existence I claim ,
Sought a designer , the mover prime
For a hidden signature to own and claim
A final escape from this unending pain .
Or am I merely a spill of reckless hue,
A paint-stain hurled from the Master's brush?
A cascade untamed colours and spills,
Splashed in the frenzy of creation's rush?
A blemish forged by strokes in myriad kind
Unplanned, yet in patterns with life blend
Letting the unforeseen to exist than delete
Left adrift in a world of disparity's thrall.
Here shadows of faith and power devour all.
We slaughter kin in the name of the divine,
Claw for thrones on altars bathed in blood.
Left to hunt the truth of our shadowed birth,
Struggling fierce in this cannibal earth.
We, bunch of souls, ensnared by the oldest deceit:
That primal flaw, still guilty of eating a fruit.
Yet in the storm, miseries hope blooms,
Beauty's defiant, unyielding fragrance
Not sin's cruel jest, but a spark that ignites.
Though we rebel against struggles and pains
Do procreate and multiply in a number game.
Each holding a brush to paint own space
In its reckless hue, we are gloriously alive.
Copyright © Johnson Vdev | Year Posted 2025
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