Innerdialects

last night after a long day, our son leaned his eyes in my arm.

If you’ve seen him, you know he cannot see, so the sensories are numbed in eye sockets. That’s a weird thing to say, but my tears & heart filled in a way it hasn’t: with no sensible words. I sat there, as long as we could, till he got up for dinner. It is November, thanksgiving. The air is chilly mist & pine. Dawns are thick with gold, with new bird visiting the trees outside- a kingfisher, a peacock family with chicks, crow pheasant, basic crow, sun birds, a visiting squirrel, myna, & bulbul going crazy with some new discovery. November has always filled my throat with tears – gratitude grows like an unruly garden. Negativity is asked to leave. The older I get, the less I care what negativity thinks.

What a year its been/ is. My prayers grow silent. There’s blind Hate today, worse than any pandemic we’ve seen. Till yesterday we were Gurus of religious decor, now we’ve spilt into people groups with nuclear tongues. How little we as a human race even know about each other, or care. How quickly we rape innocence, and murder sanity.

Am gagging at the choreography of Hatred, how it sweeps aside every blessing we’ve had from each other; at how quick our sweet lips can curse. We are hostage, the whole of Us, Hostage to envy & greed. Stript of the last garments of decency, we exhale venom enough for hell’s storehouses of the future;

but November still rises and sets each day; promising a new year soon. Here I sit, stare, whisper a need, a plead for Us each, a perhaps Last Chance at Peace with the God we exterminate.