Anything done with the ego is a self sacrifice to the devil
And I’m not saying that the ego is the devil, but he is not your friend.
He will trick you and rest assured, you will betray yourself.
You will doubt your friends, exalt your name or worth, lie, for no reason at all.
That’s the workings of a devil, when you can sustain such oceanic pain
And with your skeletons, put on a suit and slither your way through life.
Before you know it, you will have missed everything,
Yet you were always aware whenever you were missing it.
And then you will declare that life is too tough,
And pass that message on to your son.
He will grow up preparing for the worst
His time will be easier, he will be lazier, he will also be overly anxious.
He will sleep most days in ponds of tears, lakes of fears, raging seas of sadness.
His friend would turn to his enemy, another would sacrifice his own brother.
Sometimes you’re puzzled that you wake up at all each morning,
Prepared – and not- to see the sun die again that evening,
To see the horror this fearful man will have painted across the history of the sun.
Yet still you toil and slave
And sometimes you touch joy.
What will this man with the atomic nerves teach his son?
To accept fear or to bear it all like a man?
To say, “Yes, in fact, I do not know. Teach me.”
“They were lies those words of mine. Forgive me.”
“Dear friend, your wife sometimes lays in my bed.”
Would he give each man an ear, even the most banal or dumb?
Would he enjoy the sinking and waking of the sun?
Would he want for nothing more than he already has
But aim to acquire more still by bettering his art of humanity?
And be satisfied just the same with the result of success or mishap.
Not bothered by the past of his father or that before him.
Making, quite newly, a gentle generation of peaceful hearts
That want for nothing more than soulful pacificity, heartfelt love and happiness flowing with harmony?
I suspect fewer puddles of tears, but not foolishly hope for no tears at all.
Life might not be an ocean of tears but rest assured,
A couple of buckets sit filled to the brim with liquid.
And for others these buckets are tanks.
But all is pain none the same,
That’s why me and you are one and the same.
That’s why your brother is mine
And my mother is yours.
I watch a short slouch shouldered man
-Orange shirt, trousers in black-
Who burnt his son alive inside a tire
Outside our gate,
Pass my window now.
I do not want to be sad for the world again
But sometimes I feel like everywhere I look, pain.
I had a father, who taught me both good and bad,
He believed that all should be given a chance.
His father was a slim fearful man,
And his before that a boastful one.
I wonder what I’ll be,
Just? Hopeful? Prayerful? Kind?
Bitter? Angry? Hateful? Jealous?
I wonder too, all the parts of the world that I’ll see
And all the lovers I will meet.
I wonder a lot,
But that’s just me.
Related: The Mother-In-Law