I just seem to feel like the summer heat
is getting under my skin. But at least
the yellow Crown of Thorns in my balcony
has not died like the rest of my flowering plants;
even though it doesn’t have its earlier glow.
The petunias died; I didn’t even bid them bye!
What is love and caring, without the personal feel!
Would you think my personality has forgotten the personal?
It’s a long story; that my ignition is the object of my light being stolen
We have a wickedness persisting through, and it would need
reams to quantify a fulsome description. I didn’t insist on my goodness.
If you may call passive violence against stealthy conniving violence good!
But I never claimed to be good as to be dutifully righteous!
I just think I have lost my fancy for plants because they don’t narrate
Sometimes, even my wisdom looks for things beyond ideographs.
The vegetation in my soul has a kind of
latent love, and that’s quite enough. I know
that plants feel too; they have emotions!
But don’t animals too, more starkly, and we
slaughter them! The little cruelties of life, we ignore!
And yes, we all feel our own gullibility is greater.
There is no grief greater than one’s own.
I feel embarrassed to recount my many tragedies
if you see the past lives too weigh heavily on my soul’s memory
Yet, I never ventured relating my own to anyone, but now I do!
I do it emptily to whoever is participating in the media platform I indulge in
It’s as if I just found a voice regardless of who is listening
Do you know I don’t have any friends to converse with?
I have long realised that my having friends is not only a risk to myself, but to them as well!
I am subordinating my dialogue with self, and the naughtiness of voices
and spirits that come like apparent starlight in the bright of day
I just don’t want to cry about my grief. I am placated by my own pride
as much as I am bothered by the relentless treachery of some. But I don’t feel stuffed up!
I feel compelled to share a little of my life, after all the silence, I’ve reserved for so long
There is also a matter of self-preservation.
You can see if you qualify pain and suffering, it
cannot be recounted like colours that are seen
or objects that are felt with little dissimilitude of perception between
observers. And I know nothing of immensity can be conveyed
in mere words. But there is no harm in trying! Yes, I do speak to make a change.
But does well-meaning expression get the required response?
I have always felt that my words only got waylaid by the enemy, so far.
And my own expression manifested in a backlash of deceit and trickery!
I am not afraid. But I have now taken ultimate risks.
I felt safer in the desert of silence I was in earlier.
There is still little I say; and sometimes a lot. And yet, there is much profusion that the influence,
though subtle, is far-reaching (I think). I am just the Publican who is still private; but feel like the Pharisee who is finally loquacious
There is a lot of vulnerability from it. But now, I have simply dared!
I had an inherent knowledge that I was born with the mark of protection on my forehead.
I am convicted it is the truth! Just like I am the truth!
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