Fleeting Growth

October 2019

Fleeting Growth 

To my very few readers, I owe you all an explanation for my prolonged absence.

In May, I had a call with a very respectable author and publisher who told me that my choice of occupation wouldn’t come between writing and I.

This made me pursue my dream in software – data science.

But alas, her words I deviated from, and I devoted myself entirely to the more logical field.

Along with the many things I have neglected, writing was one of them.

Writing has been my sweet release ever since my naïve eyes opened to the real world, like a kitten who was blind and finally saw light.

I’m glad to say that I’m (hopefully) back. These will probably get a few mixed feelings from readers, but here they are.

I'm currently changing up a few things over here to suit my fleeting moods, changes and growth.

Is inhumane divinity actually greater than mere humanity?

What could influence differential religion but egoistic men who are against all opinions but theirs?

But what could have influenced the idea of God but God himself?

We claim and claim that ours is better, less inhumane than the rest but isn’t the idea of it all about purity and the divine, a power greater and nobler than humanity itself?

If climbing up a ladder leads a starving monkey to a banana, why wouldn’t it climb?

Every single time one of the ten monkeys climbs up, in a room empty if not for the ladder and banana, pick up sticks to break their bones.

Replace a single monkey, clueless of unexplained torture. Hunger drives it up the ladder. But before it can grab, it’s pulled down and beaten by the other monkeys since they do not wish to be beaten up due to a single monkey's mistake. Pain swallowed by one is better than pain swallowed by many.

Every time the clueless monkey climbs up the ladder, the rest of them beat it up. Into its mind, it is imprinted - climb up the ladder and be beaten.

Replace another. The once clueless monkey will join in happily to beat the new clueless monkey. After all the originals are slowly replaced, we’ve got a bunch of monkeys beating each other up without the need for your stick. They know nothing about why they beat each other up when the most logical thing to do would be to go and have a banana.

Like the monkeys, slaves to unknown terrors, aren’t we but slaves to religion?

**

Crimson Black

I smeared off the paint, streams of black pouring down the brush – eyes too releasing trickles of darkness whilst remaining deceivingly colourless. I painted the canvas with directionless strokes. The canvas was painted as dark as the bird that falls today, crying tears of death, choking on air – modified by evolution’s manifests.

Like life, directionless and vague. Yet comes the title ‘beautifully abstract’ to a painting of nothing but an emotional mess. Fellow paintings – colourful or white – while I blame clumsiness for mixing the wrong colours. Reasons and reasons to cover up the sheer imperfection that I’m made of.

How can I tell them that the blood I bleed and paint with, is sheer black?

Taps run, water gushing despite my absence in the shower. Only black patches I can see on my bare skin. Nothing I see to admire in the mirror, it was time to wash off.

The black paint runs down the drain, diluted into a hue haunting my veins – filled with shamed blood. I step out, I was clean in the opinion of insignificants.

I pick up my robe, only to haunt me again. Blotches of black stained the velvet. Scrubbing and washing did no good.

I found myself, bruised. Even sharp undesired stones were offended when thrown at me.

Those whose eyes remained unblessed at the sight of my works, were disgusted by a single splotch of accidental imperfection.

Their eyes threw daggers while their mouths held torches that tried to bury me into crumbling ashes.

My gashes bled, clothing me in my crimson black blood.

Celestial D e  c   a    y

Slivers of light fell onto her

Shoulders – long, lustrous

Her sight of beauty

They told her, yet

That her beauty was but her act

Of saboteur

For all it took was a bat of an eye

For people’s lust to untwirl

.

So she hid behind her waterfalls

Of flames, yet she was called a lie

Humility of hers wasn’t fake like plastic

But when abundance of plastic is all one sees

When does one like real gold when there are enough fakes to be pleased?

.

Pink freckles of dust from

Stars, abodes

She was ‘ugly’

She was ‘proud’

She was ‘loud’

She wasn’t bubbly enough

She was crying

She wasn’t lying

She was dying

Just to make it stop

.

The voices in her head were as whispery as silk

But when abundance of threats, degrades and insults

When does one have enough to hold onto better thoughts?

.

Celestial decay, it arrived

All things that live would die

But not herself, that would decay

But the hate negated

.

Shackles bounding her into the darkness

Emptiness of space was fear

But when abundances of emptiness, emptiness,

When does one find friends in lonely spheres?

.

Collisions of colour, emotions alike

Clouded, mixed, confused

But when abundance of newness

When does one find the colour of belonging?

.

She found a star

Although yet in darkness, emptiness

With one that for once gave her

Light, instead of envying

And lusting

Her and hers.