Did the mountains bow down to you?
Or the skies touch you,
leaving on you a mark of impregnability
such that you were eternally protected?
The clouds over you were always photographic memories
each time you died and reincarnated
We are visions of ourselves through remembrances
Love is a temple you keep within yourself,
expressed only when need be
But the oblation is permanent
And is your temple oddballed for its virtuosity to seek the truth?
These sand dunes of the universe
heat up and cool down through the will of a mind
that works through and despite the prison of its being structured by connivance
Are there loyalties to the origin or the perforation of it?
Did you say God doesn’t exist,
simply because his potency has been taken away by permeating evil?
Do you think God is pernickety because he refuses the offerings
even if, by rejecting them, he must face treachery and torture?
How long does freedom take to materialise from the clutches of sin?
If evil can have these incisive talons, what must truth have?
Believing and hoping after each deluge?
Can catastrophes avoid apocalypse?
Does hope survive the fatality,
in its belonging to a faith and truth
that propagates an origin that is, perhaps, an eventuality?
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