Sovereign Hands

Some call it destiny;
Some call it fate.
A chance meeting,
The universe aligning

But I know it's God
His Sovereign hand
The Good and Mighty God
Who does what He wants

Let the universe conspire,
Let life be unfair.
Let nature run its course,
By some invisible force

I know it's my God
His Sovereign Hand
The Good Almighty God
The True and Faithful One

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"Our God is in heaven; he does whatever pleases him."

A Letter to My Conscience

Hi. It’s been so long. 5 years? 10 years? I can’t really remember now.

I’ve been doing fine in case you’re wondering. Somehow, I manage to fare through my everyday without you. Remember my cousin? I’m trying my best not to despise him now. It’s hard, but I think I’ve gotten used to it, living without you.

I don’t mean to say that I don’t need you anymore. In fact, I miss you. I miss you so much, I would have longed for you like a buried flame gasping for air. I would have, if you were still here with me. But now that you’re gone, I can’t feel such things. All I feel is a little sadness; a little sadness for being sorry but having no remorse, for knowing guilt without feeling it.

I know it’s a little late now, but I wanted to tell you I’m sorry. Sorry for that time I made my brother cry. Sorry for that time I indulged my desires. Sorry for those times I didn’t say sorry. For all those times I deliberately ignored you, I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for every little spark of neglect that seared you like red hot iron. I’m sorry for every little flame of deliberate disobedience that burned you day by day, until you shouted and screamed. Yet I still paid no attention, until you finally faded to a quiet whisper of ashes blown away into oblivion.

But that’s it. I’m sorry, but I don’t regret what happened. I can’t, rather; not without you.

I’ll be trying my best here, so don’t worry. Just rest in peace.

Bonsai

A young tree
Trimmed, cut
Wired, shackled
Freed, falsely,
Temporarily.
Over and over

To hold
Beauty
And magnificence
In the pot
Of human expectation

Footnote

I am the author of my story
The pen is in my control
Besides all this I’ll worship God
I will cite Him in the footnote

I’ll finish college
Get a stable job
Buy a house, build a home
Fly across the globe

After all I’ve been through
Good and bad I praised You
I did my best and nothing less
I have no regrets

I paid homages of prayers
Sang You songs of praise
Said sorry for my sins
Gave a lot of thanks

I am the author of my story
The pen is in my control
Besides all this I worship God
I cited Him in the footnote

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“let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.”

The Prodigal’s Brother

He was furious. Mad. His ears were red with blood, his nose almost fuming.

He was jealous.

Jealous of his little brother who has always been the favourite. Jealous of his good-for-nothing little brother, who squandered away half the wealth of their family. Jealous because his father would throw a party for his useless little brother, but never even give a damn little goat to him.

Damn goat. He had every right to be angry. How twisted could his father be? The old man says he was pleased with his obedience. But if he really was pleased with him, he would’ve shown it better. What consolation did he get? Nothing. Not a damn goat. Not a single calf. It didn’t even have to be the fattened one. He got nothing but some goatcrap of “Son, you are always with me, and all that I have is yours.” Obviously! Of course it’s all his! The little brother had already forfeited his share. Legally, logically, naturally, whatever remains already belongs to him, the prodigal’s brother. But I’d bet a damned goat that on the old man’s deathbed he would still ask for a little favour to shower on his little favourite.

No, he was not mad that there was a party for his brother. Why, he was happy too that he returned. He was mad that there was no party for him. Oh, but you would say, “he didn’t ask”! Let me tell you: I’m pretty sure that he did. He always did. And every time, he would be turned down, saying “it’s too dangerous”, or “it’s too far”, or “it’s too late”, or “I don’t like who you’re with”, or “it’s too whatever-excuse-not-to-go.”

What did his obedience get him? Nothing, really. He would have had his share even if he did not obey. Nothing but a pat on the shoulder and a few words of “Son, you are always with me, and all that I have is yours.” Tell me more! State the obvious! Even the goats know that. For his obedience, he only got a few words. No calf. Not even a damn little goat.

Fun.

He would have had fun if he rebelled a little. He would have had more if he rebelled a lot. He would have filled the lusts of his flesh, the lusts of his eyes, and the pride of life. He would have filled them until they were satisfied. He was not an idiot like his brother who only knew how to squander. He was a hard worker, a practical man. He took care of the damned goats. He managed the old man’s possessions. Prosperity comes on whatever he touches.

But alas, would he be really satisfied? Was it the damn goat that he wanted? Did he want the fattened calf for himself? Did he want the harlots his stupid little brother had? Did he want all the fun he can have with his friends?

Wasn’t his father’s recognition the only thing that he wanted? Wasn’t his father’s trust all that he yearned for? All these years he worked so hard, but he was never even entrusted with a damned little goat.

But now the old man says, “Son, you are always with me.” Oh, so he knew. He knew, after all. He never said it, but he knew. All these years, he knew.

And now he says “all that I have is yours.” Never a damn goat, but now, “all that I have.” Not just one, two, or three goats, but all. All those goats, all those servants, all those calves, and all those mansions and fields and grains and wheat and barley and chickens and doves and pigs and dogs and cats and horses and donkeys and mules and rabbits. His. All of it.

Maybe, just maybe, that little plea was all he wanted to hear.

“Son, you are always with me, and all that I have is yours.”

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Now his older son was in the field. And as he came and drew near to the house, he heard music and dancing. So he called one of the servants and asked what these things meant. And he said to him, “Your brother has come, and because he has received him safe and sound, your father has killed the fattened calf.” But he was angry and would not go in. Therefore his father came out and pleaded with him. “So he answered and said to his father, “Lo, these many years I have been serving you. I never transgressed your commandment at any time, and yet you never gave me a young goat that I might make merry with my friends. But as soon as this son of yours came, who has devoured your livelihood with harlots, you killed the fatted calf for him.” And he said to him, “Son, you are always with me, and all that I have is yours. It was right that we should make merry and be glad, for your brother was dead and is alive again, who was lost and is found.” Luke 15:25-32

Taken

I travel daily on an endless road
Through night and day, back and forth
With a thousand strangers and a thousand more
Who drive their lives by a preset code

Not her.
She lived beyond this endless road
She's different.
An angel from another world

I longed to see her everyday
Glimpse at her face, the grace of her gait
Like a passing shadow of a heavenly ray
Through the dullness of every day

But she
She lives beyond this endless road
She's taken.
An angel from another world

I travel daily on this endless road
Through night and day, back and forth
A stranger among thousands and nothing more
Than a driver living by a preset code

Fluff

Bright white fluff above
Flat gray sheet beneath
Floating, drifting
Along with the wind
Basking, shining
In the sunlight's glory
Mindless, careless
Thoughtless, loveless

A jar of clouds
Brought low
Vanishes---
Melds with air.
Such ideal life above
Cannot live here below.

If the sky is heaven
And the earth, hell
I'd rather burn
In the pain of love
Than shine in glory
In a loveless life above