Scars
I run my fingers across my face.
feeling those deep, ice pick scars.
I used to have acne.
I still do have acne.
I used to think I have acne because my hormones never
subsided.
because i still have "puberty" at 25.
later i found out it's because the air around me is
so fucking shit.
that my body is wrecking havoc from the pollution.
i look in the mirror.
at those deep ice pick scars.
i run my hands on my body.
deep stretch marks.
The scars of the old emerge on the new.
I don't know if i should hate the way i look.
or love it.
if i did succeed, i could be proud of my scars.
because i entered the raw physics of the world
engaged with it
fought one battle after another
and emerged, victorious.
a deep sadness swells, knowing that its'
all unfair
that i never asked for my scars,
yet they will never go away.
im still struggling to embrace myself
struggling to let the world i grew up in go
struggling to leave the illusions behind
and face the world as it exists,
and not as i want it to be.
i want to convince myself that i believe in real laws,
and not false promises
the hypocrisy and deep seated evil of the system is what astounds
me
the commitment to pretense, to the act, to the prestige.
but all it takes to shatter any story build on lies,
no matter how long,
is a single moment of truth.
so i want my moment of truth to persist.
to be as good as i can be under the present conditions of the system.
the system is deeply flawed, but needs to pretend to be perfect.
answering questions that matter to me, will not come easy.
im still not able to face reality,
both mine and the worlds.
thats why im scared of my own face.
After 25 years.
i hate the lies.
i hate the hypocrisy.
i hate the scoreboard.
i hate the world i was born into.
but now i feel the breeze.
i feel the assurance.
the walls crumble around me.
the night fades.
the system is breaking down, but i still believe.
that all truths eventually do come to light.
no matter how bitter.
i think i was wrong about thinking that stories are straightforward.
the ups and downs, the twists and turns, the punches i must roll off
these are all real things that i have to deal with.
but i at least i know the truth.
i can see the lies.
i can see past the veil and understand the story for what it is.
the liberal hero in me dies.
Angry, arrogant, entitled, abusive.
weak, anxious, afraid.
something else emerges.
maybe im scared of leaving the monster behind, and
letting the human come forth.
not the human as the brain, as the abstract man.
but human as a soul, a jiva, a real creature.
i was raised liberal, poor, with nothing to believe in.
i lost my heart, my liberal heart,
maybe i needed to lose it to gain a human one.
negation of negation,
like a chrysalis burst asunder.
fighting and winning.
fighting and losing.
or just giving up and losing anyway
whats the point of an unfair fight?
why fight to win?
What am i fighting for?
We all pick a side.
the lines are clear.
you're either on the side of all life on Earth.
or on the side of bottomless evil.
that choice is ours.
what is the moral of my story?
what would i like to say?
should it be a cautionary tale?
to warn children?
or should it be a story of redemption,
evolution and transformation?
that even the smallest detail, the most worthless thing
fighting to survive, against the mechanics of Order itself
contains something meaningful, something transformative?
yet something that doesn't originate from within, but
collects from all other small things , tiny lessons?
that an animal can still find a reason to keep it going,
despite all its flaws? while a human doesn't?
understanding the world, comes from
understanding myself, from understanding my soul.
from disposing all my afflictions, and cultivating truly human essence.
learning what that means, is not an easy journay, but
to know one's heart, to understand it, and to fulfill it.
that is more precious than any stone in the world.