Melting, Gripping Echoes – Poem

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Echoes of a billion souls,
Rising up to the highest heavens,
Aching with the void in the depths of their soul,
Why do we feel so alone here again..?
Don’t God love us as evil as we all are..?
Are our feeble, selfish prayers ever heard..?
Verses in an ancient book that seem to testify
to hope supernatural yet found in plain sight,
The Earth’s misery cries every day, But not everyone
perceives, When will the invisible screams still…?
Are there Angels walking among us..?
Why do I find it so hard to believe..?
We live in hell’s upper dens,
darkness gnaws away at our flimsy foundations,
we are helpless and possess no power to war against
the evil that lurks within and around,
We are thrown about, putting our hopes on decay,
we need something to numb the eternal, restless and anguished pain,
Lord… Do you even care about us..?
Broken as we are, Are you out there…?
Can you hear my tears, my pain and my suffering..?
I feel so alone again.

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Why I love Poets and Writers – A short Poem

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I love Poets and writers,
for they deal with the same condition that I do.
There is always something unfinished, always something left unsaid,
always an inner condition that chooses to remain unconscious,
and always this nagging feeling that they can do so much more better than their last poem or story.

On most days it feels like there is no anaesthesia for this madness that is reality,
and the only way we can breathe and be normal is by being poets and writers,
or by creating art, or connecting to what treasures our abilities to see and perceive,
but people usually trap and hold us down by a false image of perfection which we can never reach.
Art comes from broken places, art is a redemptive force for sensitive hearts, timid souls and tender minds.
Art is shy but fierce,
Art is pure but without filter,
Art is taken for granted, but awakens what the dormant mind has slumbered into.
Art needs to endure what is real, for only art teaches us to discipline our minds and hearts to the harsh blows of force.