any action directed towards one's own self,
is a sin in the eyes of God,
He sent many books,
and told so many times,
about himself, and the others,
like the enemy,
the poor,
the parents,
the children,
nature and the heavens.
unfortunately,
I sensed on his part,
the feel of a prosecution lawyer,
trying to convince me,
to plead not guilty
of a crime against humanity,
of rejecting once and for all,
the morbidity of beauty.
such was his voice,
not affectionate, but dutiful.
assigning each day,
spring, winter, summer,
sea and the land,
on a cruise of subordinate species,
I assumed it was God,
who would detach me
from my mother,
and my father too,
those sceneries of graveyards,
strike the most when the
holes are too small,
and death is not anticipated
if you feel like a child,
and you see green fields are just for playing.
spinning, spinning,
not just the wheels,
the earth is spinning,
while the universe is standing still,
we cannot conceive,
don't throw thick books on our heads,
we cannot see,
it is the stillness of a stolen beauty,
not of the sun,
not of the oceans,
but of the seagulls,
can in any instant be decapitated,
and the smell of their own blood
will drive them crazy.
celine charcoal
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/state-of-self-pity/
