a new consciousness teased itself into my mind

I am not saying it was a churchlike awakening

With deity things abounding

But it was a troubling disturbance nonetheless

Where celestial things seemed like imminent reality,

Reasons received a new pensiveness: Of God and unbecoming angels,

Yielding chaos in my head, one fathomed in the next life.

I had to quit the pen & paper and take

Some time to listen, observe, and frown

I am still frowning…

I am yet to see something and anything…

The mad ones live in the desolate parts of their brain,

But I need to delve deeper into this thing,

To find the sacred drivel I think exists,

I am yet to see who you are

Whoever you are

I need you.

Dear God

I am a feeble song
Doing melodic things
Tired and starved of holy ephiphenies
Guitar strings fighting to carve out a nicer tune,
Me- standing almost like a vocal zombie
Singing godwardly out of spirit convulsions
Calling out, shouting !
Apparently singing into that elusive-soprano -hallelujah
Fighting to be a meaningful note
The halo of it lost in forced ululations
Fighting to sing
My madness enough to occupy many pews
Common sense lacking & the eerie things bountiful

Find me in your abstracts.

A sinner's regret

was I yours?

So then why the hellish stain

Of mistakes committed when your dove-like spirit

resided in my heart
Was I truly yours?

Me? With irrevocable stains & dents in my soul,

I spoke lofty nonsense  through poetry

But down there,

Where my soul wrestled with its own hypocrisy

I was a convicted sinner,
 preaching through a dirty tongue
Ofcourse kept the pulpit credible

unqualified to sing you hosanna,
But the churchmanship cleaned out the filthy canvass.

I was not yours.

I am saying this vessel was yours, yes,
 but I was a rogue nomadic

In love with my own savagery.

Loved too much the glory of my own exploits:

E.g. the power of my character vindicated me into heaven  

I was able & worthy to push myself into this celestial thing,

And yet you 'd say, I needed ‘’thee’’ to ask even for an invitation.

I needed the Gethsemane complex.

I needed my yoke imputed on Golgotha,

I needed a measly manger,
To stand un-litigated by  a cosmic court ...

On that basis I declined a gracious offer- for the ultimate credit would not be my own,
for i would not be at the center of my salvation,
but a peasant carpenter from Nazareth, would take all that credit, all that glory...
Never!

... laid myself in the real dust and so dallied blissfully into Lucifer's den.

My pride too pompous to need a homeless king,
A carpenter from Nazareth. 

I could not  have him, 
I did not want him,
i did not love him,

And so let my soul enter  this restlessness
my teeth gnash in peace.
In peace mystical.

A heaven in my heart

A mental dis-integration.
A summit beyond my wits,
a beginning tentative from within.
A strength on its own - incapable.
A weakness -  my only giving
A limb, a power, a sin
A God forgiving,
a heaven receiving
a child unaware,
a spirit determined,
a soul dis-integrating,
a heart divided.
a home without refuge,
a place for doves to settle,
a light, their credit, not my own,
a gift worth owning,
a heaven in my heart.

I shall sit here

Feasting on crumbles,

Feasting on crumbles and other somber things.

So long as my appetite is appeased for a moment,

A sorry moment,

A moment nonetheless.

I shall sit here, under this table,

My mind too bothered with a better circumstance,

Preoccupied with wishes for light, romance and other fleeting joys,

But I shall just sit here,

Receiving nothing but the darkness of this moment.

I shall sit here under this table,

Being my own judge and moral pundit.

Condemning my lack,

And convicting myself to a horrendous disintegration.

And yet I shall sit here,

Receiving crumbs of this meal,

Enjoying the sorries and

Cavalier regrets of unfinished food.

Thinking against my convictions.

And believing in my worthiness to this table- its food, - its grace and the relief it promises.

I will wait sometimes, with tears and stray attention,

Distracted by the sounding cracks of my end,

Eating of this food, with constrained expectation.

I will be the skeptic, the hypocrite, the slanderer, the self- righteous, and the unbecoming church girl.

I shall sit here,

Being finished by the rottenness of my soul,

Embracing the inherent guilt of Eve.

Eating these crumbs,

Eating from my limited understanding of this grace,

And slowly assuming a seat at this table…

the sun had failed to sprout to m relief,

and though I loved the spark,

the glory

and the possibility of a new day,

 

I had discovered that I could actually go on,

on and on

whilst encumbered by a little dark,

 

my own mindset had advantaged me against  frays and chasms,

I had harbored a mind,

a strange mind,

an awkward abandon to nonsense.

I had sat myself on the vantage point of eternity

and had laboured no more for conditional comfort

I  had pursued it

somewhere closer to lofty galaxies,

where heaven requites my prayers