There Are Things We Do Not Talk About Here.

God declared guilt the day his image

Ran away from Him-

Grew red with fury,

Grew up, up, up, up;

Until he covered the sky.

Eve was not the one who brought damnation or sin, no,

God named sin the day

Someone disobeyed him;

Who is god if not a living thing?

Eve came in a storm shock,

Came a reminder for God

That one day

Thou shan't be

The Judge,

The Jury and

The Executioner;

Thou shan't be the harbinger

Of all this fury.

A woman carved herself a piece of sin

The day she walked out of obedience,

Walked out of being a mere accomplice to a man.

In an act of trust, Eve reclaimed herself;

Don't you get it?

Lilith ran away from the disgrace of submission

And God named her fallen,

Named her a demon,

Named her evil;

Wiped out the first injustice

From memory.

What is so bad about morality?

To know the good and evil;

The first humans bit into the apple

And the apple grew them a conscience-

Grew the thought that there was a body.

Grew the feeling of all of this being,

Being here,

Grew the thought that they were here.

The Garden shut its gates

And the humans wandered off;

The first act of foolishness will perhaps always be trust.

Eve trusted the serpent,

Adam trusted Eve

And God trusted something human.

A.G.

so maybe there will be no coming of age.

maybe there will be no moment, signifying glory;

hell, maybe there will be no glory.

maybe we'll simply be two people who were here and then weren't.

the gods will not line up moments for us to scavenger hunt our purpose;

maybe we will not have a purpose.

or a god for that matter.

in one moment you're driving home and you're singing loud with your best friend;

in another you get mistaken for a man with your helmet on, the bulky death bike and then you get out of a ticket when the policeman sees your face and you come home in giggles.

in another moment you've decided to live through another day.

so maybe we will not be anything that aches when it is gone.

maybe we'll be mundane and chaotic indecision floating in an abyss of our own selves

and maybe you never get to meet that famous 2010 singer you liked as a teenager,

and you never get to learn the fourth language,

or go to that remote country

or kiss the love.

maybe there is no love here.

maybe we will go quietly, with naive hope that is false but you hold on to anyways

because if you do not have this hope to hold on to, there is nothing else.

to hope is to have the courage to pray, against all odds,

to pray that there is someone out there lining up things for you,

lining up lives and people for you to become.

to have hope is to be terrified of all the realities.

we'll go quietly, unnoticed;

and yes this does not match what we wanted to be,

but there are happy endings in all those poems and stories to make up for all the ones you never get to have in your reality.

A.G.

After Indian Mystic Poet Kabir Das

Kabir walked after death,

Walked his own body to a grave.

Flowers bloomed and plucked themselves

Out of their homes,

Placed themselves in the middle

Of life and a walk to the grave

To let a man leave in peace.

Kashi born,

He walked with the conviction

He had in his knowledge,

Challenged the Orthodoxes,

Challenged the convention;

Kashi born guaranteed a place in heavens

He gave it all up,

Got himself cremated and burried at the same time,

Got himself fights throughout life

And even afterwards,

Got himself a piece of satisfaction,

Got himself legends and disciples

And angry purohits,

Got a piece of logic and equality of castes

When there were no such words

And Brahmins were gods.

Man dead already,

Looked at his funerals,

Looked at the burial

And felt his head turn towards Meccah,

Could hear the verses ring in his ears

As the soil washed over the lack of his body:

"We created you from it,

And return you into it,

And from it we will raise you a second time";

Looked at the cremation

And felt his soul return to the gods

As they proceeded with the Antim Sanskaar, chanted:

"When thou hast made him ready,

All possessing Fire,

Then do thou give him over to the Fathers,

When he attains unto the life that waits him,

He shall become subject to the will of gods".

Wars end when wars do

Wars end when death settles

The graveyard was ready to receive me

I had so much to do still

I do not think I want to be here anymore

Here, I have found

Here is relative

Here in this life I feel small

To not want to be here is to acknowledge

There are things holding you back

There are things you do not want knowing your name

The battle cry was futile

No one wants to wait 

To experience the glory of all that bloodied violence

I am here

Living past things I was sure would kill me

Here

I am here.

I have so much life left to live still

- A.G.

(you can also read the poem from bottom to the top)

They really be erasing parts of history which make them look bad huh?

Do not let flowers bloom in place of your words. Speak Up. No more shrinking yourself, staying quiet, being worried if you'll step on someone else's toes. They will shred you and they will like it, enjoy it even. Speak Up. Scream. Let it be known that you are here, you are here and alive and you sure as fuck will ensure that they know it. Speak the fuck up. No more hiding.