Art in Existence


This is a prayer

whose words have been

drowned out

in the maelstrom.


This is a song

whose melody

has been shattered

by the strike

of iron on iron.


This is a dance

whose movements

have been bound

and tied,

and broken.


These are words

that may never

be heard.


Spoken in the morning,

before the humdrum world

imposes its subtle tyrannies,

overt anarchies,

split the lips

and the song goes running.

Ill equipped

to resist

the maxim of the influencers.

Holding back

used to be discretion,

but now,

it is considered rude.


Spitting the syllables out,

like shards of broken teeth.

A little blood

on the corner of the mouth

reveals you

every time you speak

these holy words

that used to be

a cornerstone.


Now, we can unearth their meaning,

salvage their intent

from the ruins

of a collapsed structure.

How suitable

is it to even try

to speak to God

these days?


This is a promise

broken before it was spoken.

This is a lullaby

sung in the morning light.

This is a race

won by the abstinent.

This is a war

no one will ever fight.


All things have a place

in this existence,

even those that have trouble

existing at all.



HG – 2022

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