I woke up last night and had one of those anxiety attacks that snowballs and takes on a life of its own. Its power ebbed and flowed as the day went on. Then, suddenly, a part of me rose over the rest of me and said: “Live bravely...”
The rest of me agreed silently and then this poem came pouring forth…
Live bravely,
Regardless of the consequences.
How many lives have we lost to fear,
Some half lived,
While many not at all.
I am not one who believes that the theory of evolution and the existence of God are mutually exclusive ideas. In other words, reconciliation between the two is possible. What I take issue with, however, is the use of the former to attack the latter. I get that many people believe that religion has been used to justify some horrific acts in the past. Believe me, you don’t need to convince me of that, I know firsthand. Having said that, even if you are the most ardent atheist, you can’t – or rather shouldn’t – deny the fact that religion has been a source of solace for billions of people on the planet; especially the poor, war-ravaged, and downtrodden. I just can’t think of anything crueler than to try to take away the last source of comfort they have left…
I met a man who said to me,
can you believe that God could be?
With all the stories that fossils tell,
the tales you tell don’t ring a bell.
The only prophet my faith is in,
is an Englishman I call Darwin
I said to him suppose that I,
believed that God was but a lie.
That our Universe was born by chance,
and God’s real name was “Happenstance”.
That my forefathers were great big apes,
stumbling around, searching for grapes.
That good and evil on our whims depend,
that death was the end that ends all ends.
That this life we live was meaningless,
with no real goal or great purpose.
Then my dear friend I ask you this:
When the winds of hardship begin to hiss,
and the nights of sorrow consume my cheers,
and my face is washed by streams of tears,
and my heart is broken like an old tree,
and relief’s gatekeeper has tossed the key,
and I find myself alone in darkness,
with no one to speak to except my madness,
weak and broken without any power,
can Darwin help me in that hour?
This is one of the most important poems I wrote while I was inside. You all know what it feels like when a glimmer of hope begins to sparkle in the distance only to be snuffed out suddenly by total and unforgiving darkness. Prison is all inner work and so after a period of battling I remember vividly waking up one night and seeing in my mind’s eye a slain red dragon.
The dragon has been slain.
My head is bowed,
and on my knees I stand.
The colour of my tears is red,
I see the break of dawn.
My heart weeps for what it lost,
yet my soul is full of joy.
For all the wisdom that it gained
For all the lessons learned.
O Night of my soul, ever so dark!
Into your darkest corners I shall embark.
Swimming through the deepest oceans of tears,
Withstanding the howling winds of my fears.
Seeking what every noble soul has sought,
A treasure that is neither sold or bought!
They said to her,
though a child she was,
Why were you ever born!
She looked at them,
but could not speak,
so she began to crawl.
He whipped his soul,
his entire life,
for what was not his fault.
And now the scars,
from all the wounds,
we’re there for all to see.
I saw the boy,
I saw the whip,
I saw through all the pain.
I told the man,
he was the boy,
and he was not to blame.
The man’s tears fell,
he dropped the whip,
and hugged the little boy.
His burdens fell,
his wounds were healed,
and now he tasted joy.
16 years ago, on my first anniversary of incarceration, I walked into a rectangular concrete yard with high walls. The yard was empty except for a pigeon with a broken wing who was in a state of absolute panic. It was stuck in a frantic cycle of bursting upwards into flight, then crashing into the wall, then falling to the ground, and then trying again… and again… and again.
Continue reading “Wounded Birds”
My father?
My father is an enigma.
A puzzle I have yet to solve.
I still remember his song (or prayer):
“O Zakaria, O Zakaria!
May you fall in a pit of poop
And find no one to pull you out of it!”
Prophetic words that make me smile to this day.
Oh! and by the way,
Now I know where my poetry flows from…
I love you Baba!
How could You be when all I see is suffering?
When all I see is orphaned children cry in pain, wondering.
How could You let their innocence be robbed away in darkness?
How could You let their blood flow like endless streams, it’s madness?!
The Journey of the Boy and his Sandcastle 