Sunday, February 9, 2020

Original Sin

The wind sweeps past me
as I sit inside the tinted windows
of a neat and swanky car.
Sundays are an affair to remember
especially the bland Sunday breakfast
in the terrace dining coloured by
the yellow sun
and these cab drives with people who speak strange languages.
Stuck in a city that I wanted to
build my home in, I want to now
Hail Mary my out of it. Our Father, deliver us from the evil one.

This day gave me a moment of realisation
when truth woke me up in the
morning, and whispered "love is a lie"
I let it sink in, and wash it away
with the bubbling  toothpaste foam. I bit hard to
chew and digest this truth with every morsel of food. It sank down my throat.

Cab drives to the church are a joyride for my song play list.  As the next song plays out  lust is the word that sings,
sweetly like the choir singer at the church.
It's defined the cycle of procreation. In clear concise words.
They named it love. And fooled us with it.
We chose to believe in it.
So that our body won't hurt
when it would camouflage itself
and feast on our flesh.
It is the truth. That the church forgot to teach us. Every Sunday we gulp it down with the host. And smile ear to ear.
Bearing the weight of the original sin.




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