Tag Archives: Solitude

I’ve Found Home

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I’m not okay, but it’s all fine. I’m not okay but don’t tell me I’ll be fine.
I am broken, and I’m not asking you to mend me, just to help me find the part of me I lost. You’re the candle to illuminate my darkest hours.
Even a crooked stick can draw straight lines; it all depends on the hand that holds it.
Fireflies trek my mind no more, the poison within killed the antidote now my mind is a mouldy can of dead worms.
But this stench is all I know. This darkness is all I am.
You say depression is a creation of losers who’ll blame everything but themselves for their weaknesses.
You say depression a loser’s mind-set.
But you can’t judge a man until you’ve walked a mile in his moccasins.
Don’t tell me the cloud will be up for a while; you know nothing about missing the sun even when it shines.
Shoulders drooped in humiliation,
Tears streaked visage,
Backs bent with guilt,
Eyes frozen with fear,
You know nothing about the life I live
The battles I fight
The haunting past
A future I dread
You know nothing about the breathes that choke
So bask in the comfort of your privileges
And leave me alone
Yes, I said leave me alone
I’ve found home in this darkness

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Solitude

There’s no solitude in a mass grave
No time to be with oneself
No silence
for the monks to meditate
Too many songs
too much swearing

The priest asks why
the pervert was placed above him
whenever he masturbates
it floods his bible pages
The drunkard complains
that the preacher’s wine bottle
never runs dry
men of God don’t care
men of God don’t share

The foul-mouthed prostitute
has convened a meeting
It’s a feminist’s campaign
for equal rights
see them chanting
placards held high
woe unto the sorcerer
who plucked their wares of trade

The landlord has no place here
These tenants won’t pay rent
All they do is complain
Too many cracks on the wall
Too many patches on the floor

The cannibal is cursing God
His prey has no blood
Nothing fresh in here

A musician is roaming the up and down
The promoter must pay his dues

What a beautiful sundown
The Monk wonders
but no silence to meditate

The Presence of God

The pressence of God
The presence of God is in the things he created
The beauty of the leaves serrated
The height of the hills
The might of flapping fins
The melody of the sunbirds
The oneness of travelling ants
The orange setting sun
The bald peeping moon
Smiles that awaken the souls in gloom

The presence of God is in all I see
The falling stars that serenades the moon
Heavy rains wiping the tears of noon
The barren nature of the deserts
And the solitude with which it serves

Honestly, I don’t find God in church
But in forests, mountains and places as such
In the gospel preached by whispers of wind
And the soothing touch of grass on my feet

I find God in strangest of phenomena
In the Sirens of Silence
In the wails of still waters
In the overflow of aridity
And the abundance of scarcity

For he left his thumbprint in all he created
And to him be glory belated

For he left his thumbprint in all he created
And to him be glory belated