An Answer (a cycle of victim-blaming)

Finally gotten the opportunity to find an answer

But before receiving an answer, there has to be a question

How can there be a question if the problem can’t be named

The problem appears invisible, as you’re the only witness

It’s hard to prove the facts when you’re the only evidence

As the evidence is you, unchanged, unmoved, still in place, frozen in a state of permanence

the problem appears to be you

Questions are refuted to you

You are the fault

So now take the salt

Answer the question

that you brought into creation

Because you’re the one who complained

You’re the one who cried

you’re the one who stood apart

so face this disgrace and comply

for trying to escape your space

stand back in place

the ace is in my hand

i’m the one in command

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With the Light of no source

behind the curtains
above these windows
with not a single star in sight
there gazes a certain light
belonging to no source
despite the thundering plight
ringing against my ears
bringing me to tears

I’m fighting for my sake
because my purpose is all I have
far away from the regular world
swarmed by the stories that are lived as untold
It’s not the material I desire to take
and rub it into my hands
pretending it won’t turn to dust
nor is it the lust
that bewitches hearts to rust

rather it’s what dries away my tears
the cool wind thriving through my years
guiding me to the light
I was sure was ever real
helping me see myself
above the petty things
that were grown with crooked wings
failing me to fly
to the greatest height of one’s sight
no
I see myself
above those petty things
grown with crooked wings
above the lavish
that seizes to quench the thirst of gluttonous eyes

I see myself rise,
not needing the sugar in the lies-

nor the endless tales in ties-

I see myself

going

towards the heaviest in size, succulent clouds
with rain drops
of no owner shared
ready to give
to that which is none unless paired

so here I am
behind these dark curtains
listening to the lightning
with no stars in sighting
having the one thing
that is the world’s most heightened
glory, with the wind keeping my secrets

to myself

Your Raj and his entourage

never make your secrets free for your foes to hear
lest the first thing be that you’re brought to your knees and instructed to fear
since silence is safer for your hopes to remain clear
than your own hands be used against your own garments to sheer
because others become queer when they see you as sharp as a Spear in a world they try to keep for themselves to steer
theyd  rather have you be below as a dainty little peer
and be furthest from near–
lost, looking for the treasures in a mirage
stuck at the rear of an hourglass
placed as the jewel on the taj of the friend you hold so dear
whose claimed himself Raj
and  imprisoned you as his forever entourage

Jug of Milk

Adjacent vulnerability welling up my throat.

I saw in a full  clear jug of milk

fresh grass pile up and float

It was the mourning of my past

and my heart’s ill hope

that something for his future might just slope

This was the fresh grass, like a fresh cut

that polluted my jug

for my mourning and my cut would always rise up fresh

and ruin my morning drink

my afternoon drink

and my evening drink

and my night drink

to the point- that I would not think.

the sadness in my desires

for wholesome love to light my fires

spoiled my every drink

depriving me of pure happiness

and the pure willingness

to focus on God

thus leaving me flawed

 

Just like the grass in my milk

 

 

 

Tethering Scars

lend your broken hand for it’ll become whole faster

since there is no better healing

then to give your heart to those

who’ve been rigged from feeling

 

Become the open arms

that everyone refused to you

so you’ll know that you’re worth the while

than what the past

lies to be true

 

Charge at your trial with dominance

and you’ll love and cherish the moments that pass by

For without them, you won’t hear yourself cry

in gratitude