On seeing suffering through the Eyes of the Ancient of Days

Seeing suffering stirs up my heart

Like no other human vulnerability

And in that very moment I search

My whole being to see

What I could do; how I could subdue it?

Could I give sacrificially? Lament and wail?

Philosophise? Eulogise? Politicise? Or turn a blind eye?

And suddenly, He taps on my drooping shoulders

And tells me He loves the sufferer

More than I can ever do;

That the butterfly struggles hard and long

Jus to get out of a pupa…for a good reason

Out of His peerless love has He coded-in

Smaller struggles

Into the grand tapestry called life

Awed, I gladly hand back the reins

Humbled, and fully assured…

This too will be taken care of by the Greatest Lover, the Ancient of Days!

What Can Stand in the Way of Hope?

When a soldier sheds camouflages to don clown’s costume
Pranking, joking, making kids laugh
When a State fogged by hate’s thick fume
Runs out of steam at last
When sorrow-plagued lives begin to kindle mirth
With a passion hard to quench
When striking transformations dot every single birth on earth
Not ceding to doubt and despair even an inch
Oh, when Heaven decrees your brighter morrows
Inked by God’s very signature stroke
What can stand in the way of hope?
What can stand in the way of hope?

Mercies for quite Birthdays

Light flags of wax ©Chrysolyte Choragudi

As the incandescent wax sticks flutter like light flags
And the incense of contented hearts rise gratefully
Angels peep into lives that set aside world’s gags
And join in to cheer with sweet chorus so heavenly

Singing Happy Birthday favoured soul

Letting Go

Letting go is tough

because it pressure-pumps memories so often that night and day converge;

Letting go is cumbersome

because it sets off a chain of ‘is it worth it or is it not’ checks

Letting go is painful

because stemming cancer isn’t as easy with persons as it is with bodies.

Letting go involves mourning, brooding, cursing, pleading, begging, condescending and even offending.

Yet, let go we must

because people like to be let alone.

Deeper Mourning than Death

That day when he stage managed his gadget’s theft
And squeezed another phone’s cost from mom
It didn’t occur he was born dead with noxious skills
Until one day his rot would choke us to the nostrils

Ah, it’s not just the gloom of his shameful death
But the vanity of carrying a casket from birth

When he secretly smelt a piece of his lover’s lingerie
Or brazenly concealed his visit to her hotel abroad
We didn’t see how dead he was – a perverse rogue
Until the law called the bluff on his insidious cloak

It’s just not the sudden darkness of disrepute
But the chronic suffering from a habitual galoot

When he bonded with other dead among his conjugal kin
Hid in their shadows to execute evil ambushes
We were blind to the incorrigible Goliath in him
Until his kin screamed ‘he’s dead a long time since’

It’s not just the tragedy of ignoble path he raced
But the pity of progressive deadness he embraced

Copyright ©Chrysolyte Choragudi, 2021

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