And as my Soul dug into the grass, hiding away from the joys of the world
and burrowing itself deeply into the grains of mud;
I could see the sky as the light faded.
The blueness of sky, the whiteness of cloud, the pink of sun
No tears trickled down these cheeks of mine
I wasn't moved by the sight.
But I was grateful that I did not have control over the entire universe.
For He is able to create each day anew, while us hypocrites are left to
play around with His original idea,
and present it to the world with a different slant or angle
in order to make it ours.
I was grateful that I had no control over this black Labrador of mine,
whom I've decided to call Barney,
so as to make him seem ridiculous.
For if I were to control the vitality and the demise
of life and love and contentment,
I would never fall down so very, very deep
that my nails would peel off and bloody my fingers
as I tried without success to scrape myself back into the world of the Surviving.
My chin would never be attracted to that little dent in my neck;
I would not be so meek, that I could longer look anyone in the eye.
I would never know the satisfaction and freedom I get
from completely losing touch with reality,
Which allows me to chop off chunks of my straw-like hair whenever I wish;
Which allows me to talk to myself as I walk along the street,
even when I know someone is behind me
and is tripping on the marbles that fall through my skull,
which make a plonking sound as they fall onto the pavement;
Which allows me to scream and hurler and to wail and to be hollow;
Which allows me to sob loudly and weep silently for hours on end,
changing nothing in the process.
And so I see the sky, now plunged into darkness,
and just like magic the little silver dots appear
in ones and threes.
And I love to see them so far away, silent and durable
and oscillating in my mind. I do not control the stars.
But He does. And I am grateful for that.
Pusique si j'avais le pouvoir de contrôler les étoiles et mon déstin entièrement,
I would be the Deity and would have no one to pray to.
And then, surely, I would be bereft of hope, to the point of nervous prostration.
And just how can one prostrate to oneself?
Just how can one prostrate?
Sukaina Juma
27th April 2008
***
That time period feels light years away, and yet, by reading my work from that time, it is once again afresh. I may now be ready to gain insight from those vague and blurred years.
One incident that will remain with me for quite a while: it took me quite some time before I could sense the warmth of the sun. I was in the garden one day and felt a warmth on my back that seemed alien. And then I realised that for at least a month, I had gone so deep within that I had been unable to feel the sun's rays on my back.
How good it was to feel once again. And it made me wonder why I couldn't before then.
From the darkness cometh the bright pearls of my creativity and expression.
And yet, there must be a more conducive way to do this, mustn't there?
Qui sait?
and burrowing itself deeply into the grains of mud;
I could see the sky as the light faded.
The blueness of sky, the whiteness of cloud, the pink of sun
No tears trickled down these cheeks of mine
I wasn't moved by the sight.
But I was grateful that I did not have control over the entire universe.
For He is able to create each day anew, while us hypocrites are left to
play around with His original idea,
and present it to the world with a different slant or angle
in order to make it ours.
I was grateful that I had no control over this black Labrador of mine,
whom I've decided to call Barney,
so as to make him seem ridiculous.
For if I were to control the vitality and the demise
of life and love and contentment,
I would never fall down so very, very deep
that my nails would peel off and bloody my fingers
as I tried without success to scrape myself back into the world of the Surviving.
My chin would never be attracted to that little dent in my neck;
I would not be so meek, that I could longer look anyone in the eye.
I would never know the satisfaction and freedom I get
from completely losing touch with reality,
Which allows me to chop off chunks of my straw-like hair whenever I wish;
Which allows me to talk to myself as I walk along the street,
even when I know someone is behind me
and is tripping on the marbles that fall through my skull,
which make a plonking sound as they fall onto the pavement;
Which allows me to scream and hurler and to wail and to be hollow;
Which allows me to sob loudly and weep silently for hours on end,
changing nothing in the process.
And so I see the sky, now plunged into darkness,
and just like magic the little silver dots appear
in ones and threes.
And I love to see them so far away, silent and durable
and oscillating in my mind. I do not control the stars.
But He does. And I am grateful for that.
Pusique si j'avais le pouvoir de contrôler les étoiles et mon déstin entièrement,
I would be the Deity and would have no one to pray to.
And then, surely, I would be bereft of hope, to the point of nervous prostration.
And just how can one prostrate to oneself?
Just how can one prostrate?
Sukaina Juma
27th April 2008
***
That time period feels light years away, and yet, by reading my work from that time, it is once again afresh. I may now be ready to gain insight from those vague and blurred years.
One incident that will remain with me for quite a while: it took me quite some time before I could sense the warmth of the sun. I was in the garden one day and felt a warmth on my back that seemed alien. And then I realised that for at least a month, I had gone so deep within that I had been unable to feel the sun's rays on my back.
How good it was to feel once again. And it made me wonder why I couldn't before then.
From the darkness cometh the bright pearls of my creativity and expression.
And yet, there must be a more conducive way to do this, mustn't there?
Qui sait?
