Hunger
My tired blood pooled in the rocks and drenched the sand. The desert bloomed.
For six days, I left the world around me
and entered a desert devoid of life
On the second day, the Devil paid me a visit
Giggling, he tortured me, the game wearing him out
He bade me farewell the following day,
but left behind a many-handed daemon
to keep me company
The daemon’s name was Self-Care
Joyously, he made his home inside of me,
speaking to me by pulling my innards
With the arrival of the fourth day,
my tired blood pooled in the rocks
and drenched the sand
The desert bloomed, and I understood
how God felt at the Art of Creation
for now I was God
The fifth day dawned
to take me away reluctantly
Within moments I missed understanding
like I miss a lover’s smile
Today, half an old man approached me,
hands outstretched for alms
I looked into his eyes and, surprise,
saw that he lived in the place I’d lost,
but Sadness hung herself from my heart
when I realized he’d never played God
I gave him all I had and left with the belief
that all I’d experienced was Illusion.
Photo Credit: Emad El Byed on Unsplash.
Interesting; but was there ever really anything at all to understand? We live, we die; what else is there, but death? Between all of us, there's nothing but ourselves, as far as we're concerned. There is nothing in this world, but that for which me make of it; which, obviously, no one has ever tried to do anything else, but that.
Butterflies. Bumblebees. The sound of water-rain, sea. The tenderness of a caress. Hold fast to every ounce of beauty, life and love. That too is revolution.