My love language
The language I learned to love in,
Is no longer uttered on my lips
It has no recipient
It has no end
Sometimes, by mistake when I speak
In your language and sing your songs
I catch my heart skipping beats
And dreaming of love songs
And a life that I once dreamt of
Is faded like words washed away on a piece of
Paper erased in time
Like an insult, if your name is uttered
It exists neither here nor there,
No pride, no love, no gain
Numb to your love and name
A reflex perhaps
The words I learned to love in
Remind me that once upon a time
You were mine
I halt my heart and remember to not love you
In your language or mine
Because those words
That twists the rs and ys
Insisting the I’s
Remind me of every conversation
I had with you when
I joined the r’s, y’s and I’s
As I rested my lips on your lips
The words rolled away from my tongue
To form the words
That I only uttered where I ended and you began
The road to hell is paved with good intentions
Ever heard the saying the road to hell is paved with good intentions.
How good are one’s intentions if it does not take into account the freewill of the one the intention is being imposed on? The missionaries brought Jesus to Indian savages who worshipped spirits and dressed in loincloths. They intended to help the savages become civilized and attain heaven. So they controlled and assimilated them by taking away their kids, way of life, dignity to ensure entry into heaven, their heaven.
How good is one’s intention is it does not recognize our interconnectedness? We believe that we are providing for our family a healthy, wholesome food, when we are taking away the child of another, slaughtering and serving them on a platter, while disregarding the pain of another because it does not speak the same words that legitimize the mass killings of a species, we deemed ingredient. Once upon a time, the colonialists provided for their families when resources ran scarce on their lands, by robbing the lands of spices and silk and making slaves of us all in the process because we did not speak their language and welcomed them with an open heart. Animals trust us, love us, are kind to us but given the chance we rob them blind of everything even their lives.
How good is one’s intention when the end goad is to appeal and appease the ego? We intend to do charity and give to the poor by flashing a camera in their face, to show to the world how kind we are, disregarding the capacity of true consent of a man who has not eaten in days. How good is our intention if to appease our guilty mind the amount given is a mere fraction of a fraction of our earning, while we live in palaces?
Are good intentions about separating the world, into distinct categories, neatly ordered and kept apart. If there, is we, then there is automatically they, and what we are is always better than they the outsiders? I exclude you, us exclude them, when we create the world, when we put labels that separate, definitions that exclude how good are our intentions for this world. In some indigenous cultures mother is used to define the relationship of a child with every older woman of the tribe so that the pressure of caregiving does not fall merely on one person alone. How beautiful is a world where words bring together all, no labels, no up or down, no one alone? No ego to appeal, only a world to live in. Notice that there is many nouns but not many adjectives to which to admire the world.
In Anthropology the concept of critical cultural relativism asks questions about cultural practices and who is accepting them and why they are doing so and if they are in line with the historical practices and values of their culture. If it is only serving one subgroup of the culture or the whole culture as whole. Like in a family, is the family acting like a family? if there are people acting on their self-motivated interests and not of the family as whole. My family may be different than yours but can yours be deemed a healthy family if they are acting as solo individuals and not thinking of the whole.
Our world is not merely changed by intentions but by actions, actions that are put together in words. Environments, and cultures that shape us, define us.
‘’the road to hell is paved with good intentions’’
By the nuns and fathers
Who saw a dire need to do good
Jesus was brought to the savages
Indians that needed saving
Indians that needed to be civiziled
That’s why they ripped them of their kids
Put them in schools
That tortured them
So, they could go to heaven
A civilized heaven full of good intentions and a white Jesus.
We needed to provide protein for our families
That why we killed the kids of others
So that we can feast on their protein
That’s probably why the colonialists
Stole our spices and jewels
Made us slaves
because they needed the spice to
Preserve their meat for long winter months
And feed their families
We give to charity
To do good and feel good
But do we feel good and that’s why we do good
Is that why we flash a camera
In the face of a hungry man
For whom consent is the least of his worries
But a right to his dignity
We strip a man of their respect
By giving a fraction of a fraction
Of a salary
Through which we live like kings
How noble of us
The world is round,
Not a box,
Things flow in this world
We are not bound by walls
We create them
We create communities
By words that separate us to them
I exclude you
Us exclude them
That’s maybe why we pollute the world
It flows as someone else’s problem
How many have lost their lives in the name of nations
Merely a factual concept, peons in the game of hoarding resources
When the world is divided, separated, distinctly named
There is no place for everyone at the table
Our world is not merely changed by intentions but by actions
That are fuelled by the imagination that create the world
Where there are villains and heroes
A stark divide
That paint the world in black and white.
If we want to change the world, ask the world does it need changing
If we want to help, ask those that need, how we can help them
If we want to care for another, ask them how they need to be cared for
If we want to live, ask others if our lifestyle is encroaching upon their right to life.
If we speak, ask other is our words hurt, divide, judge or condemn
Intentions are born of our language, environment, culture, resources, history
Whether they are good or bad is asking whether the world is in black or white
But when the light shines in, everything is made of color with each sunrise
Critical cultural relativism looks at why, who, and to whom does it serve our practices.
Does it serve one or all?
A home is made whole when all its members are united in their differences.
Differences that challenge our egos’ that maybe just maybe we do not know everything
And knowing that might make us a little us sure of ourselves.
But when our ground is shaken, do we not hold the hand of another to find our balance?
And would that be such a bad thing after all to not know everything and learn a little something everyday so that we are together in our uncertainty as we go through life?
Do you not have any shame?
For all your words of wisdom
Do you fall short of words at the sight of men?
How do you sleep at night knowing you made a perversion of the truth?
How do you sleep at night knowing you cut the roots of a blossoming tree and paved it with concrete?
You only seek the status quo, in all your pomp and flair, you are nothing but a slave, a cog in a machine
that goes round and round, making slaves of us all
slave to beauty
slave to money
slave to titles
It is not freedom you seek
it is not rest, nor is it family
your philosophies speak of veiled suns, colorful cages, barbed homes, and flowery prisons
it speaks of beauty without freedom
it speaks of a family without love
it speaks of a heart that stopped beating in passion
it speaks of a heart alive to the beeping of a heart monitor, barely alive, tied to the machine
Do you not have shame when you face another woman?
Do you not have any shame sentencing her to a life of meaningless servitude to a godless system?
Time and time again, you befriend and come laced with poisoned apples
To stab at the first sight of disobedience to a god that has no compassion, no love, no kindness, to a god that is merciless, to a God that demands sacrifice.
It is not god that you serve, it is the devil.
Behind your false smile and your proud heart
Lies a thousand lies that make up the bricks of your prison
Where you will rot and remain
Like pharaohs of the olden times
Buried in monuments, sent off with false promises of gold and goods in the afterlife
Brick by brick, an illusion
For the oxygen that gives life also rots the skin and flesh down to the bone
So whether you are buried under the meadow or deep within the pyramids
You will rot and remain with your lies
You say you are home, but a home is not a home where there is no dignity, equality, integrity
It is a house with a warden and prison inmates
Even a shed becomes a home if there is love
Even a prison becomes a monastery if there is self-reflection
It is not the walls that make us
It is not the doors that trap us
It is writing the wrongs as right.
It is twisting the truth that gives us a life sentence to the lies that make up our prison.
We shop with our eyes wide open and yet we are blind
We touch the soft, the rugged and the velvety and yet we feel nothing
We smell cinnamon, spices filling up the air and yet we are full and unfazed by the aroma
We taste sweet, savory, spicy treats that fill us to the brim and yet we are wanting for more
Are we ever satiated when our desires are endless?
Do we ever feel the full extent of the things we buy.
Is the cost merely in currency or do we leave behind a part of our soul
Isn't the cost too expensive at each sale, bargain deal and liquidation center
The exchange is not merely between the cash register and the currency be it plastic, metallic or paper
The trade is between and in between entire nations, one serving another served round and round.
Isn’t the cost too expensive when we buy into injustice, slavery, exploitation, destruction for a piece of cloth to cover our shame, a trinket to fill our empty homes, shoes that we will never wear because as long as we keep buying, we will never put back together pieces of our soul that slowly keep being tied to things, more and more things until there is nothing left of us to trade.
You were my muse
For all that was beautiful
You were my curse
For all that I believed in
Your love a farce
For all that I trusted
In you my lover, my Judas
In you I found a lesson
A lesson in love and a lifetime in words
My muse, my deceiver
My life needed art to be saved
And a thousand words to be understood
#judas #love #betrayal #artist #muse #pain
For years our union was despised
You worshipped Ishwar and I, Allah
Creator of the universe
Who has seen, who has heard, who has felt the divine love?
I thought ours was cosmic, spanning thousands of years into the present
A beautiful love born of innocence
When you had not yet learned to hate my god.
Years into the future who knew that cruelty would become its legacy
Hate silenced your heart
You heard none of love
No matter the screams
I became a burden
A lovely crime
That was meant to not only be erased but betrayed
In a way
I could never stand up
and speak of a love that could look beyond rituals
a love that would re-write the pages of history
a history where we pray together to those that remain unseen
felt in love, a love so divine it erases the cruel words meant to taint our union
but your heart had already turned deaf, filled with hate for my kind
reducing me to value, set by your people, who weigh love in gold.
I was never fond of gold so I chose the dirt that made my beating heart
I chose the dirt to which I shall return, to which you shall return.
#god #interfaith #love #hate #discrimination #pain
I made a deal with the devil for a pocketful of prose.
I made a deal with the devil
I made a deal where I exchanged some love, a hug, a spoon of kindness, and a pinch of affection for a boulder of pain, a pain that paints the sky in shades of grey and a trail of muddy tears
when the pain subsided, the boulder crushed it all, all that was left was a mere scar. Merely a dent on the surface, a rolling tear that escapes numb echoes
I made a bad decision the first, the second, the third time, a friend, an acquaintance, a lover
Left me scars, and then some more. Few more boulders rolled out.
I learned of the world as boulders and heavy loads that crushes all in its way
So what if I made a deal with the devil for a moment of rest, he could have my soul
I made a deal with the devil, with his charming smile, his tricks, his illusions to fly me away, far far away. He flew me so far away that one day I flew far away from everything that made me, me.
The boulder rolled and rolled away but it stopped hurting.
I struggled to claim back my soul, floating in an ocean of souls, lost like mine
I got caught in a web of fears, gripping away at my flesh, clawing into my skin
I took each and every thorn and threw them away, far far away into the unknown
But there is always a catch with the devil, he never stops now does he, in his ways,
In his pursuit of chaos?
my soul, my smile, my rest, my very breath
He clings on
I made a deal with the devil but It's over
I made a deal with the devil not knowing, he lives in the shadows, he lives in the scars
Because the devil's sin is vanity and what he cannot live without out is being acknowledged
Even in the scars, he left behind.
I made a deal with the devil for some love and he gave me a lifetime of a muse in each scar, each one, a prose that writes itself, carrying boulders that unload years of rain.
#prose #pain #poetry
I've only really known pain
The language to describe my woes
So many words to say it hurts
So many ways to say I hurt
I've only really known to talk, share and discuss
With my mothers, their mothers, their sisters and brothers
Tales of patriarchy hidden in bruised bodies, in stolen lands, in anxious hearts
Hidden deep within mental illness that bring about hysteria in good women
Promises made, unkept I've only become too familiar to empty words
From a lover, a brother, a friend whose promises bestowed hope but delivered
Nothing more than disappointment once again
Happiness or rather the words to describe joy, true contentment
Only but a foreign territory far too wild to be part of my story
Unfamiliar to the fullest extent in this heart that learned early on
More ways of concealing pain
Than one to describe happiness merely present for a moment
A glimpse, a shadow, far too rare to become a habit
Far to foreign for me to learn to be happy once again
It is a habit, merely a fact that I keep learning within
Over and over again
To talk of pain, and its remains
Because this world no longer knows how to heal or mend
But only to break and wreck over and over again
#pain #habit #poetry