Your heart chokes unbearably tonight
as words you never speak light themselves on fire
in front of you.
Reach out, pick them up, and
evaporate them to the sky above you
but you know, you'll never be able to touch
those words ever.
Somewhere on celestial mountains,
you wondered that perhaps the air would be different,
a little calmer, slightly more soothing to the heart.
But no, the air everywhere is as thick as canopy,
no sunlight escapes into it.
And you replicate everything you do
with everyone else:
delicately fabricate small tit-bits of reality
into laughter and circumstances,
pick up the easiest of airs to breathe from,
and inhale and exhale out everything
in absolute naturalness in that conversation.
The difficult air to breathe is hidden
under layers and layers and layers
of symbolisms. You thought you'll reach it someday, but you won't.
You cry gossips as if that is what aches you,
but that is not at all what anything is about.
The gossip whisperers will one day be revenge,
an absolutely futile venture that will take you nowhere.
But the skies above their ground will one day rip,
they'll see I'm still alive
that I was saved and I didn't die
and everything they did to me didn't do anything to me.
The pain was forgotten momentarily,
haunted memories erased temporarily
as you study scriptures in flesh and blood.
When you walk back into the room,
you hear your grandpa whisper on the phone:
'is she all right?'
And your mother responds, 'yes'.
Go back to your Bible,
go back to seek solace,
you need forgiveness for everything.
