Warrior – Short fiction

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In Christ alone all hope is found – Legendary words that the warrior wrote in his notes to cherish, believe and feed his spirit with#

He was a warrior.. forged through the most intense fires that could beset a man, a warrior constructed through life’s hardest internal pains, a soldier who knew the wicked evil curse that had been cast upon all lands, men and women.., but yet he fought, he never gave in and he never accepted evil of any kind or sort… He was a warrior for GOD.., always battling the evil that nefariously and insidiously found human agency to work for its horrific causes.., The warrior was no ordinary man, he could read the undercurrents of groups of men, he could sense with immediacy the lurking of danger.., he could even sense the Holy Lord’s intent, thoughts and messages for mankind.., The warrior saw things that most people could never be aware of, he spoke of mysterious,terrifying truths that he received when he was on his watch tower high up in the hills, his knees deep in prayer.., interceding, battling, pleading#

God had gifted him an ability so powerful that it only activated itself when he was in the thick and thin of ferocious, fierce warfare, until then he would never know that he had such a capacity, such a will and such a determination of heart. The Good Lord did not want him to suffer the conceit that falls upon all heroic men, that they were immortal. The warrior was created with weaknesses that drew him towards His Lord.., the warrior only viewed his strengths as something that would give his Lord Joy and Happiness regarding him. The warrior was a hyperactive soul, not content with complacency, always eager to challenge the hyper-doctrinal man centeredness that found its way into the Lord’s words.., he was always eager to challenge the strongman of a territory.., he bowed to no idols, matter of fact he warred against them.., he sought to destroy any such idol in his life.., he bound up wicked devils, he hated what the Lord hated.., sure the warrior was a man who had weaknesses.., but he hated them and leaned on His Lord to fight his wars. The warrior had integrity and honor for no matter how valiantly he fought, he always gave the entire credit to His Master.., He did not do it to be selfless.., he did it to honor his Master, to exalt the power and grace of his Master.., and to praise, worship and allow other men to revere his Master.

Only the Lord blessed men with victories that really stood out, there were victories that men celebrated and raved about and then there were victories that impressed itself in men’s minds and made them revere God, and made them recognize the power of God. The warrior knew real well that he had to stir up belief in men’s minds and hearts.., to do so he had to constantly plunge into the realms of risk, of danger and of personal threat.. The warrior was created to make men know God, that was his life’s calling, he was no mortal.., he was created to be immortalized for all that he revealed about the Great God that all men pretended to not be aware of.

This ability to decipher truths about one’s soul as one experienced feelings, senses, emotions, thoughts in one’s heart and mind was something that the warrior knew well. He believed in his heart of hearts that he had to praise, honor and make God known in all the good things of his life, in the bads he would wrestle, question, sulk and argue in misery.., but never exceed the boundaries that he had kept for his mouth towards His Godly lover. He was distraught at the loss, being the competitive minded man that he was, he wanted a clean performance.. during those moments the Lord would remind him of the glorious rewards of defeat.., chiefly introspection, gratefulness, rejoicing in trials and tribulations and renewing of strength…, the warrior usually got back up and allowed the pain of memory to strive even greater, even further and make more glorious attempts for the sake of His Master who ruled the world sovereignly.

At times the warrior suffered intense, immense anguish.., questions regarding his finite strength when it was pitched against the mighty, vast and powerful kingdom of darkness hidden in men’s lives in plain sight emotionally pushed him into an internal pit that he could not find the footing to come out of. The warrior was attacked with just plain, indecipherable reality and then the devils would mock and curse at him as he suffered the pain that cursed life because of sin.., the deaths, the murders, the meaningless wicked deeds done without honor in plain sight.., the horrors that he had to hear, imagine and know.., the inability to forget what he discovered.., the sights of pain, of death and of violence.., the warrior suffered immensely with the inability of his heart to cope with such traumatic events.., and yet the warrior was a man born to fight, born to slay within himself that which was against Gd.., and gave humble orders to Angelic Rulers to attack and accompany his wars with the wicked god that this world had chosen for itself.., The Warrior would fight and avenge the innocent, the brutalized, the victimized, the forgotten, the ones who were taken advantage of.., the warrior would fight and fight.., until his Lord asked him to stop and close his eyes. The warrior was alive only to allow His Lord to rescue lives and in this was his life’s calling, heights and sole purpose#

Too Real – Poem

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The problem that I face with the world
is that everything is too real and I am too soft..!
I believe in the absolute best despite facing a lifetime of evil, hurt and angst..,
My scars have deep wisdom.., but my heart has deeper innocence..,
A few days ago.., a girl who had dumped a guy was hacked to death by the guy she left.., no happy endings.., no background theme music.., just real evil happeing in a place used to daily routine and crowds.., what an ugly violent manifestation..,
A day before that murder.., she was alive.., happy.., possibly dreaming about clearing off the debt for her parents with her I.T. job.., but now she has become a tormented face that reminds people of cruelty…,
Will people remember her in the same way …?
We walk past homeless souls whose entire lives have been one big agony and we don’t flinch or even feel their pain..?
How cruel are we..? Do we realize that we are going to be asked such questions by the Lord at Judgment..?
I wonder if demons rejoiced at another lost soul lost to eternity..?
I wonder if the killer thought things through, I wonder if he saw past his own hurt..? Why dear Lord are we possessed of a will that exists only to bring ruin and shame unto us..?
How can you unsee such an atrocity..? how do you find the words for such a tragedy..?
What are you supposed to do when this is the routine in the world I feel, see and live..?
How can happiness be preached when death, cruelty, pain and suffering are all I see..?
But i’m not complaining.., I survived my suicide.., I experienced a hand reaching out to me from the supernatural realm and save a routine fatality..,
but still I am a healer in a world deeply at unease with the forces of brutality and discouragement..,
Each day I am haunted by what I see.., the more others don’t have… the more at unease I feel.
I can’t sleep.., the human soul is at unease and rushes into evil, murderous lust and wickedness.., I pray.., I am always acutely aware of the unrest.., of the living shadowy beings …, I am always aware that something is always at work around me.., my sensitivity feeds my inner life with what my natural eyes can’t ever see…,
I pray for my town regularly.., I pray for souls to know the truth that can set them free.., I pray for Angelic protection for my brethren living in places infested with hate.., thievery and fear.., I pray for natural man to encounter the spiritual force of Christ.., I pray for eyes to see.., for ears to hear and for hearts to feel God..,
I dream sometimes that God will save us all.., I dream sometimes that I can build a shelter for homeless dogs.., I dream someday that the Church that I build will shelter homeless people in the night.
I dream sometimes that Hell will become empty.., It’s real sad to know the fate of the world.., Friends you still have a life.., seek the truths of Jesus and be absolutely sure in your conviction of Him if you are going to reject Him.., Narrow is the path that leads to life and few there are that find it.

First hit… Memories of shame

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I am always trying to ponder inner realities that exist within me. Coming to terms with what they are conveying.., I perhaps to write to understand what I feel so powerfully within me.., I write to share my side of the fence.., I write to live.., I write because I am in love with words, stories, prose, beauty, literature and secrets and feel compelled to treasure this gift of gab. I believe that a writer is someone whose soul can see past the nature of make believe outer reality, and into the real heart of things.

I can’t understand what is happening in my heart.., but I feel a tremendous heaviness on it right now. My Father and I had had our usual Saturday night conversation.., the topics varied from England dropping out of the EU to my sermon that I had just finished delivering in the church opposite to our house. He highlighted things in my sermon that were hard to take.., it was the usual criticism.., ‘repetitions, unwanted honesty, forgetfulness…’ etc.., I had to listen to my parents and their observations since they were just as sensitive as me when it comes to not realizing the brevity and reality of things. All my happiness and joy at battling intense inner fear, nervous anxiety, strain etc and then standing before young people who were so cynical, dismissive and attempted to mockingly laugh and smile at your face and delivering a message fizzled away as I listened to what he was saying.., He could be really persistent when he wished to convey truths about my sermon that I could never see…, Call me insane but.., I don’t understand criticism because I deal with my own inner insecurity.., and to heave a dose of observation right after a tremendous test was quite horrifying to me…I sometimes wish people listened with their heart and not with their mind.., but he is my dad and I love him in ways that I can’t even comprehend.., he has done so much for me.., and struggles with a burden so big.., for my sake…, I can’t help but listen to my hero…but I have to remind myself to sit alone with my Lord.., perhaps I can climb above the slab of the upper floor and be alone.., and pour my heart, my tears and my feelings to Him who truly cares…, maybe I can become sane again.

I’ve discovered that most of us are expert talkers.., but few can look beneath the layers and words and understand the heart.., and find the selflessness to love back courageously and look past our own scars, wounds and weaknesses…, True Love seems to be too easy to long for and so hard to find. I am no longer content with human love.., I demand, desire and hunger for a love that can conquer.., accept me at my absolute worst and encounter me at my most insane and still love me fiercely, ferociously and insanely.., So far I can only count Jesus in that list.., nobody else comes even close.., perhaps my parents, sis and doggy can be added after a billion kilometers.., but then again God gave them to me.., and they ask me to love God more than them.., maybe I could place them after a million kms since for the first 25 years or so they were the only reflection of God that I could see, feel and enjoy and they were incredible, amazing and otherworldly at it. I’m blessed and thankful always.

I remember not so long ago when I bumped into an old acquaintance of mine. He had been a mentor to me in my past.., but a hard, no compassion showing dictator who was relentless in his handling of me.., I was chastised often.., rebuked often.., told to study hard.., and it always felt like his methods were too extreme.., too hard and too painful for a hyper sensitive, dreamer in love with his imagination such as myself… and I could clearly see that I was nothing like him… He had built up his own empire from scratch.., he started one of the most powerful ministries during the 90’s and had been responsible for a wave of revival that had hit Vellore during that time.., all of a sudden there was a surge of meetings, revival meetings, youth meetings, Godly sightings.., Angelic Sightings.., curing of terminal illnesses such as Cancer, Aids, Tumors etc… God had touched the sun scorched soil of Vellore in centuries.., and my Ex Mentor had been in the thick of things.., He was a disciplinarian, who was a hardcore perfectionist… He had a soft side to him and I could see it work on certain people.., but he was above the pack and was always leading the charge and taking all hostages with him.

Growing up I had always struggled with feelings that I could never be good at anything. I saw people naturally blooming all around me.., and I was never good at anything…, I struggled with insecurity.., inferiority and shame.., I always dreamt of killing myself in my early years.

I was his polar opposite, ie of my Imperfect Mentor.., I was a free spirit, but I could feel too powerfully the pain of a hurting, broken world.., I was deeply hurt at the plight of the street dogs whose stomachs had shrunk and the bones of their rib cage showed real clearly.., I felt pained when I saw people throwing stones at their feet, I was hurt by the fact that dogs and human beings had to search in the trash for food…, I was hurt by how some people never had the freedoms and privileges that I enjoyed.., my heart was always reaching out to the lonely, the hurt and the broken… I disliked the life that everybody led, I wanted to live a life that I enjoyed.. the childhood version of it was to live on an island away from people and that island would have libraries, food for eternity and a world class view of the stars that I would see every single night.., I enjoyed freedom, I loved being free.., I did not like to be tied down, I always dreamt of freedom the more I found myself in systems.., I enjoyed sports.., and I had a hunger in my soul to reach for the stars.. I dreamt all day long of fame.., of fortune and of beautiful stories that I could imagine, and maybe create someday.

After the initial years of growing up next to him, my parents decided that I would do a year in my Dad’s Alma Mater – MCC.., up and until that moment I felt trapped in Vellore.., Vellore was too raw and primal.., there wasn’t class, refinement, integrity or friendliness here…, I felt nothing but inner torment, anguish and boredom in my early years.., School was a bore.., I struggled to cope up…, I was detained after classes all the time.., or I had to cross paths with stronger, more assertive seniors who used me to beef up their own credentials.., I was either a punching bag or a source of teasing and scorn.., My skin color was highlighted which made me feel ugly, unwanted and awkward.., I was never accepted by my peers for some strange reason.., most of them were the sons and daughters of either rich industrialists or doctors.., I guess I was not their type.., I felt unwanted by them .. My teachers did not exactly convey any feelings of me being embraced or celebrated either…, You remember what people don’t say to you and what people can’t see in you.., I still do to this day.., I remember feeling like I was of no use to this world and I dreamt often of death and suicide… I was an invisible person who had to live like I was different.., like I was not special and like I was of a lower species…, My language speaking skills would be highlighted often.., or my grades would be brought up.., Nobody worried for me.., they were just shoving my lack of interest in academia into my face and telling me that I was useless. The hardest part of it was to feel shame for the sake of my parents.., who I could see were such kind, gentle souls and here I was shoving a brutal reality pill into their faces because of my sensitive soul… They had worked hard to get to where they were.., my Dad had undergone tremendous trials.., losing both his parents.. moving here and there.., taking care of his sisters…, struggling to come up in his own life, and my mother came from a very poverty stricken family and had studied hard to reach the management ranks of the most prestigious hospitals in our town… I had let them down.., here they were working so hard under really hard circumstances to make something of me, and here I was just wasting it all away.., I was never considered for anything or thought to be anything.., I loved sports.., but nobody took a special interest in me.., or thought that I could amount to much.., Growing up I so badly wanted somebody to believe in me and push me in fields that I was interested in.., but sadly I had none.

Such experiences with the unkind, non grace offering parts of life made me really hunger and long for love, for empathy.., for being understood despite what was going on on the surface.., I wanted people to feel sorrow for me.., but I was confused since I saw people from even lower places than me survive, fight and live.., this further made me despise myself and made me close my mouth. I did not want to talk it out to somebody and listen to them talk about things on the surface.. Nobody had the power to perceive the depths of me.. No one.. Unless I talked about it.., and when I did.., it did not impact them in the level that it impacted me.., my inner struggles helped me listen deeply to other warriors dealing with a cruel cruel life.., late on in my life.., my wounds, scars and inner demons created an artist…, created a resource so deep for my craft.., but the same feelings that I heard in my earlier years would trickle into my heart after any accomplishment.., ‘This is not good enough..’, ‘ Is this the best that you can give..?’…, ‘ Look at him/her they seem to do it in a way that feels easier than you..’.., ‘ This felt easy.., you’ve not been really challenged yet..’.., ‘ You call this writing..? A 8 year old with no understanding can write better stuff than what you just did…’ …, and so on and so forth.

When we had moved into the colony that we are staying at right now, he was the only person who was caring enough to welcome us and to also help us ingratiate ourselves to the culture of the small island of Christian only homes that stretched down two parallel streets. He was so kind.., and took such genuine efforts to include us and make us feel welcome…, but I remember the initial awkwardness of it all.., I remember my neighbors treat my mother with disrespect as she attempted friendly conversations with them.. I could not see it in their faces but I got a hint of it in my heart.., I was offended that they could respond to my mother’s genuine smile with a calculated one, how inconsiderate were they that they offered hate for love..? And I was never wrong about them.., all those highly rude individuals always seemed to find newer ways to establish their supremacy in our lives, their facial coldness seldom seemed to still.., they were always wound up, always ready to attack and always eager to express their imaginary dominance… and I am a really objective guy.., but I have always abstained from those who don’t welcome… I believe that it all comes down to early experiences. I have always struggled with being rejected.., I still do.., now I am a tough nut to crack.., but my heart is too soft. I am like my mom.., dedicated, personal and intense.., I used to alienate myself and rebel to gain strength briefly but I comply, conform and humble myself for the sake of the gospel these days, and the friendship of my Lord has really helped me forget those initial difficulties.

Nothing special seemed to happen to me.., nobody wanted to talk to me.., nobody seemed excited to be my friend.., nobody could really see me.., I understand it all now.., but the heart of a guy who knows and desires love but finds emptiness.., egoism and hostility can be hurt eternally. I did not get any love letters.., I was not anybody’s best friend.., I was hurt by the lack of interest.. by the indifference.. by the unkindness and chiefly by the inability to perceive one as being important, necessary, needed etc hurt me. But I guess those initial years and the senses that I absorbed have made me the person that I am today.., have helped me take on the cross for Christ’s sake.., and have created in me a hunger to find people who suffer the same silence that I did.., and perhaps lead them with the help of the Holy Spirit to the Lord Himself.

I don’t know who ends up reading this.., but I will beckon you to attempt to make the world a better place than the way you found it. I implore you to know Jesus as your personal Savior since the world can overwhelm, destroy and kill your good intentions.., but Christ can help you with His strength and power and lead you to work for the Kingdom of God.., and believe me the benefits are out of this world.

Confessions: Lost chances( Short fiction)

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‘ Is it your fault.., or was it mine..? Whom do I blame for this sorrow..?’
– Translated from a tamil song

The basketball court grew translucently vacant after eleven in September… September made you feel different in the city.., as a watcher of people I pick up on a lot, all cities have the same traffic.., the same zone defense of public roads.., the same feisty cops pulling up bikers with helmets…, but God has different layers to each month.., the trees lose more leaves.., there are a lot more winds.., the waves of marina are are more lustful of the shore.., loneliness is much deeper in the underground caves.., and the antisocial appears every now and then when things grow still after the din grows low… A man who knew loneliness sat here often hoping to absorb the energy of sane souls, I knew him as well although he and I don’t really talk much.. I get the sense that the world that he occupies does not allow entry of people who talked.., he was a sad soul.., lost to a world that was indifferent to his plight.., unkind to his homelessness and harsh to his presence.., can’t really blame him.., but I wanted him to pour his soul into mine and feel my warming fire.., I was not exactly normal either.., I was a misfit myself.., a loner who preferred a ball and an empty court to people… Friends in my life were people whom I knew but who never knew me.., I was too deep to be understood, I was too distracted by the world to conform to their demands and expectations which seemed silly and childish in my eyes.., I was a man who knew things before they happened and who saw things before they were perceived.., I was whatever place I absorbed and I was whoever people wished me to be. The Park drew in folks.., the park did not catch your attention immediately, you would pass it by and it would not invoke any sensation.., it was bare, plain and possessed no juicy vibe.., like a plain woman you passed her by.., and then you encounter them and you begin to know them and you get the sense that you were guilty of perhaps discrimination but you’re safe since it happened in the secretive layers of your mind…. but this park was where I in all of Madras city found myself drawn to.. Perhaps this would be my own dream theater of performance.., where I can be the heroic motif that I pick in my day dreams.., where I create a legacy for my own knowledge but unseen and unrealized by those who frequent this same place as me.

There was always a buzz on the basketball court.., the eager to flaunt players held hostage by their domineering coach.., the visitors who sat on the stone galleries to ponder life’s mysteries.., the middle aged uncles who rested their vertebrae after a back breaking walk around the park to burn off calories.., shady cats whose eyes glinted with the spirit of marijuana and who scowled and mocked everybody that their eyes could see.., homeless drunks who argued loudly and later slept soundly in the top stair of the stone gallery.., local flower men who sold threaded jasmine buds to middle class city bred ‘Iyer’ ladies who slept on the hard stone floor.., Fatigued auto-rickshaw men resting after a tiring day…The court was my kingdom.., and I imagined myself to be the king of my court.., and it was my job to realize with the eyes of the heart the souls that walked through the court.. I would attempt stories from what I felt when my heart touched upon their souls.. I would also try to place each person with a song that I would spend hours searching for.., or perhaps crystallize them with a poem..By nature I am distant since I could care less about the formality of mere connectivity.. I could not understand why people had to spend so much time getting acquainted.., I know the bad ones.., they always try to make you love them and they always try to puff you up.., the rest are a mystery that requires patient chopping .., my mind is always afar since I alienate myself from the usual.., but there is a music to each soul that one can listen if one listens closely.., a hidden tale buried within each layer.., and I was determined to discern and navigate through the darkness of being.

He was one of those middle aged men who enjoyed mere banter. He had a charming and disarming way of engaging you.., He and I shared the same lonely space for quite a period of months, I wanted him to find it in himself to dare break the invisible walls that people erected around themselves.., He approached me with praise, a great conversation starter.., he wanted to understand why anybody would choose a public park to practice after 11.30.., a place well known for antisocial scum, insane marauding hooligans on bikes and bloodthirsty wanderers… I responded by saying that I could say the same about him to a certain extent.., A spark glowed in the darkness of that court which was a well-known magnet for unfinished tales.., broken hearts and restless souls… He would generally do his circular walks around the park with a distracted look, he found the practice difficult but he still kept at it.., he was from a small town deep in the south.., his language contained the soul of the town that he was from. The people there probably spoke from their heart.., lacked cunning and were delightful of people.., maybe they lacked the sophistication of deeper understanding.., for a brief while we clicked. Our souls are thirsty for as much of earth that we can find.., for in eternity our souls will suffer uncertain fates depending on our choices. I knew that a soul’s relation to the revelation of Jesus would decide one’s eternity.., but in the here and the now all souls starved and hungered for love and want.. They had a funny way of expressing it since immaterial realities kept pressing against their conscious shores…, but it was there and you had to learn to handle the bitter reality of people and their incapability of knowing their presence and their actions on another soul.

I am a chamber full of secrets.., many souls speak what besets their soul into my depths.., they share their hurts which are often painful realities that still torment their inmost minds..,I seem to inspire their openness.., and I seem to inspire them to enter into my inner stillness to phrase in fleeting lucidity their inmost torments which always found a way to confound their lingual capabilities.., for the moment they could find the perfect, most honest, most soulful and most heartfelt way of narrating their lives in his presence.., it would finally lift off and decrease in its intensity.

He remembered the first time he saw her.., he had known since he was 8…, it was not her eyes, her appearance or her behavior that he noticed…, he noticed instead how his heart fluttered when she walked past him oblivious to the nuclear damage that she was wreaking on his simple soul. Over a period of time the feelings became mutual…, he was 14 by then.., and she 13.., they held hands on the long mud paths surrounded by rice fields and sugar cane fields that led to their homes when nobody was watching.., he climbed trees to pluck mangoes for her and.., wrote her I love you hundred times… their love blossomed over the years.., he came from a conservative system.., multiple social walls stood in his way.., she was from another caste.., he belonged to another.., religion spoke about how he belonged higher.., but his heart could see no such reality.., his heart wanted her more intensely as the years progressed.., they promised each other multiple times that they would find each other no matter how far they got.., that the other would wait if something were to happen.., but as fate would have it education brought him to the chaotic city of Madras.., he would call her many times.., but there were no mobile phones back then.., the timing had to be perfect.., her Father owned a goods store and he would be out by 7 in the morning.., her mother was always at home.., but went at 2 pm to the temple for half an hour.., that would be their time.., even if her mother returned.., she would act as though the phone call was between her friends.., but one time her mother stayed back and long story short got wind of what was happening.., they beat her so bad that she swore to never contact him again.., but she was lying.., how can emotions such as love end in the face of adversity.., it is the very soil that it blooms and flourishes in.., he promised her that he would come back for her the moment he got a job.., but her parents got her married before he could make good on his promise.., marrying her off to some businessman…, heartbroken he wept, cried and wandered in sorrow and despair.., the years passed, he tried to forget her but to no avail.., how could someone forget someone who had inhabited his inmost being..? Who had loved him with a love all her own..? How could he overcome that which only made him linger.., stay and wander in a world of inner hurt..? He grieved like a man who knew not how to survive in a world devoid of his sweetheart.., he could not bear the thought of her in the arms of another man.., he could not bear another possessing her…, love was never meant to be shared by a third party.., Never.., His parents sensing his woe married him off to a proper Madras girl.., he hid his sorrow and began to live for his future.., family.., responsibility.., he had become so possessed by this intense hurt in his heart that he struggled to love his wife fully.., even though he had gotten over the deadly blow.., he could never forget his first love.., he shared this to me over a period of time and I listened as I always did like my life depended on it.., funny how strangers heal wounds that one’s own efforts seldom seem to. I know that the good Lord placed me on this planet to heal people, He did the healing.., I just had to reach out to the souls.., and I always could find them no matter how they hid their wounds.

I did my best to console him.., I spoke nothing .. there was nothing that I could say that would reach the inmost depths of him and pull him away from what he felt, I only listened and allowed my silence to do the healing.., I allowed my warmth to speak what I couldn’t.., what could I say..? I only felt myself grow sad.., there was a certain amount of sadness that this court seemed to attract…, I was a lost soul myself.., but I knew that Jesus healed.., you just had a sense for these things that was more than reason oriented.., I understood his moral reality.., He was married.., had kids in school and was a normal functioning member of society now.., but he would forever remember the lost chance.., and what could you do about it in this wild jungle..? Love more deeply..? Take more chances..? Marry for love..? I didn’t have a clue.., all I knew was that life moved on.., I had more souls to meet and more stories to glean. But what I encounter and see will always bleed within me.

Oh English, Dear English…! – A short Poem

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English,
The language from another shore,
The voice who lifted me up from the miry, emotional depths
that seem like the invisible waves by the sea,
I breathed you, I found my step,
my strength, my soul.
I speak you in my soul,
you reveal the power of my heart,
the identity of my being,
and you unveil the depths of my being,
I live you and breathe you in my heart.
You paint worlds from mere touches,
Create galaxies and shooting meteorites from
everyday experiences,
You are an unfathomable heart that arose
from God’s own infinitely mysterious wisdom.

But when I open my mouth,
you sound crude and raw,
What’s up with that..?
You make me feel like I don’t know you,
I stutter when I speak you to people who
seem to be better at speaking you than I.
I wonder why am I so timid whenever I feel that
somebody else owns you,
Are you asking me to rescue you and asking us both to escape by sea…?
Are you the trapped damsel caught up in a cluelessly, abusive relationship..?
They may own you, But I am the one who sees you for who you really are,
I love you for what you are and not for what you make me feel.
You couldn’t escape from them,
they use you to make themselves feel better,
To make banal, meaningless statements that do not pour
like lava from their soul,
They are brain wrapped in wanting to sound kosher, to make themselves appear on the imaginary map of relevant and popular,
to feel their way around the 7 fallen nations,
Are these not just slick, semi retarded sociopathic beans…?
who just judge each other and try to impress…?
You know that you belong with me,
I can build you cabin that overlooks the sea,
You and I we can make genius ripples across
the Indian and the pacific ocean..,
Only a soul understands another soul,
they are just caught up in their talent shows,
they wear fancy dresses, sound casual and are all about
vanity and schmucky ideas galore.
I want to be the only one who loves you this way I guess,
I am selfish.. because you give such life to everyone’s mess,
but I am a man of honor, I will allow you to reach into other’s
fragmented nirvana, I will allow you to make them whole…,
But You and I we promise to never leave each other,
We promise to love each other even when things appear gloomy,
uninspiring and hopeless,
and I will admire you in others, but love you like I love myself
in my own powers.