God is not dead—She has forsaken us.
We wipe our angry, hate-filled tears
after another shooting, as a man
polishes his gun outside a mosque.
All those stolen lives—we scream
for justice! But God has quietly left
our temples and churches.
She will not return, for what WE have done
is much worse. We have murdered
God has deserted even the devout of us
who save our love and compassion
for those good and righteous, as we abandon the bigots
brimming with hate. Yes, those least deserving
of love, but the most in need of it.
God’s agony rings in our hearts. She wails for the future
shooters. Though we reject them,
God greets these cracked and confused creatures—
the least deserving of compassion but the most in need of it!
These suggestible souls who are susceptible to the systematic vitriol
spilling from cult leaders and politicians, brainwashing them.
We’ve read their spiteful tweets, but when we pass
them in classrooms, in trains and markets, we dismiss
those seemingly small opportunities for kindness.
We don’t know—and how ignorant we are—
that every time we ignore them,
we sharpen our daggers
and stab humanity in its pink raw flesh,
not in dark alleyways. No, we do this openly
in broad daylight, for hating them
shows how loving we are. For condemning
them proves how moral we are.
But every shooting illumines
the failure of our collective duty to love
as God loves, to be compassionate as God
Your prayers heal, yes,
but for God’s sake, let God be.
I say: First,
resurrect your humanity!”
“When I am gone,
break the night.
Set my remains on fire,
so I can still be your light.
For I am forever indebted to you.
O people of the world,
I am eternally yours.”
“Why is it surprising that I,
your Little Sequin,
can write devastating love poems?
Tell me how you can spot
the violent storms inside a heart?
Can you identify which person
is going through a revolution?
Which is revolting against their thoughts
and overthrowing their mind, only
to make their heart king?
There is a world inside each of us.
I hope to share mine with you.
“I wish to have known you before you were born.
To have seen your naked soul
and to have kissed it.”
“And there’s you,
with your purity and beauty.
You unyoke me.
We lie on the bed,
closer than a hand in a glove,
yet I still experience this distant ache.
I miss you even in your presence.
How did love find me
when I hid from it so masterfully?
How did love know when to strike?
I look into your infinite eyes
and can say nothing.
Because there, in front of me,
And you unyoke me.”
“Loving you, I understood myself.”
“Find me here,
I will wait for you
below and above.
I’ll wait for you
in the dark, in the light.
I’ll wait for you
in the day, in the night.
I have waited millions of years
and haven’t grown weary once.
All of eternity I will wait
though there’s nowhere I haven’t been once.
I have been in hearts and groins,
in the whole and the chasm.
I have been in birth and death,
in the cries and the orgasm.
If you close your eyes, I am there
in your nakedness, in your truth.
If you ask for me, I will come
in your age, in your youth.
Because I love you, lover.
And wish to be loved.
Find me here, said love.
I wish to be loved.”
“Give me back my lips.
I meant to give you a kiss
but a kiss turned to a thousand,
and a thousand to thousands,
and now my lips have left with you.
Give me back my hands.
They only intended to caress you
but they held tight and have forgotten
even the very arms they belong to.
Give me back my mind.
Mind wasn’t even supposed to think of you
but you forced yourself into dreams,
and those dreams dreamed of your reality
and now mind is mindless —
less mine more yours.
Give me back to myself.
I miss my reflection
and who I was before I met you.
Before I eagerly and lovingly,
stupidly and foolishly
gave all of myself to you.”
“Make me drunk.
Make me drunk, Beloved.
I crave your drink.
Break these thought chains
and tear these garments.
I crave your nakedness.
I’m speaking to you.
I’m speaking to you, Beloved
Take me to the depths of your ocean.
I’m thirsting for your drink.
I have followed the scent
of your intoxicating perfume
and having arrived at this altar,
I sacrifice my body for your soul.
Oh Beloved, make me drunk.
Make me drunk!”
“How strange is it
that our beloved
finds its way to us
The orange moon,
the smell of coffee—
are all bridges
to the one we desire.
How does our beloved find us
in this way?
are we the ones instead
who find our beloved in everything?
Our intense want of them
necessitates the nearness of them.
And so we seek beauty
only to be flooded with the beauty
of our beloved.
And we write ellipses on the page
only to be thrice reminded
of the freckle
below their lips…”