The Burning Child

You left me in the morning when the sky was turning gray,  

Slipped out like a whisper, like you had nothing more to say.  

No note, no explanation, just the echo of your name,  

And here I am, a child, left alone to bear the shame.  

Did you think I wouldn’t notice, that I wouldn’t even care?  

Did you think I’d just forget, like you were never there?  

But your absence carved a wound, a scar that doesn’t fade,  

And I’ve spent days in silence, choking on the blade.  

I grow up with questions that no one could explain,  

A heart full of anger, soaked in bitter pain.  

Where were you when I needed arms to hold me tight?  

Where were you when the nightmares haunted me at night?   

Did you ever think of me, or did you block me out?  

Erase me from your memory, erase me from your doubt?  

But I am not so fragile, I won’t be cast aside—  

I am the storm you left behind, I’m anger’s fierce tide.  

So here’s to you, the ghost who walks the halls of my past,  

The mother who abandoned, who never thought to ask.  

I don’t need your reasons, I don’t need your lies—  

Just know you built this fire, see it burning in my eyes.  

I’ll rise from what you left, stronger than before,  

A girl who found her power in a mother’s open door.  

And when you look back, if you ever dare to see,  

Know that it was you who made this fire inside me.

Promises To Keep

My children, in your eyes I find my light,  

Two stars that guide me through the darkest days,  

In every smile, you banish every night,  

And fill my world with hope's unending rays.

Though paths are steep, and I have walked alone,  

Your laughter lifts the weight I bear with grace,  

In every step, you’ve made this house a home,  

And in your love, I’ve found my sacred place.

A father's heart, though weary, beats for you,  

Through all the trials, I stand to see you grow,  

For in your joy, I find a strength anew,  

A love that only we three could ever know.

So here I vow, with all my soul and might,  

To guard your dreams, my son, my daughter bright.

She The Woman

Oh, woman of the silent night,  

Your hands have toiled without applause,  

In shadows deep, away from light,  

You gave your all, without a pause.

The world has turned its gaze away,  

No laurels cast upon your brow,  

Yet day by day, you fight and stay,  

Without a word, without a vow.

You bear the weight of others' dreams,  

With steadfast heart, though few may see,  

The quiet strength that softly gleams,  

The fierce resolve to simply be.

For all the deeds that go unsung,  

For every tear you do not show,  

Your worth, to which no words have clung,  

Is more than you could ever know.

So here’s an ode to what’s unsaid,  

To every task you’ve done alone,  

Though thanks are few, and praise has fled,  

You are the rock, the cornerstone.

Oh thankless one, you stand so tall,  

Though shadows cling, and light seems rare,  

Your spirit, it surpasses all,  

A beacon strong, beyond compare.

When The Dawn Turned Dark

Oh Mother, where did your whispers fade?  

In the cold of night, I searched for your light,  

In the shadows, I traced the warmth that strayed,  

Yet the echoes of you were lost in flight.

Were your arms a fleeting dream,  

A tender lullaby sung to the moon?  

I longed for your touch, a golden gleam,  

But morning came, and it was gone too soon.

Did you leave to chase the stars,  

Or did the wind carry you away?  

I stand alone, with these silent scars,  

Your love, a distant ghost in gray.

Yet in my heart, your name still beats,  

Though your face is but a blur.  

I gather strength from the incomplete,  

For in the void, I find who I am, and were.

Oh Mother, though your path has strayed,  

And you left me in the night,  

I rise, a flower in the glade,  

Seeking the sun, finding my own light.

Set It Free

Somehow there are a faces you don’t want to see… for instance, there is this yesteryear actresses’ daughter who tries to strut out of her mother’s legacy in an attempt to establish her own presence; yet, the sad thing is that she neither has the essence nor the stuff that her mother had; no, not one bit and every time I see her on the screen, I flick the screen as if in auto-mode and if she appears on some magazine cover, not by her merit but through her PR efforts, I flip the magazine into the nearest garbage bag… where I think she rightfully belongs. 

Another instance that I recall, while talking about puking at the memory of a person was someone I admired quite intimately - who at one point of time, a long, long time ago, made me forget my name… once. Cursed with chemosensory memory, I remember people and recollect events through olfactory stimulation and I distinctly remember this person’s smell… a concoction of talc mixed with cheap, teenager’s deodorant. After years, while straying in the aisles of a supermarket, the same mixture of talc and deo filled the air – must be someone who tried to sample the concoction, leaving behind the trail… by now, what once enchanted me, disgusted me. Looking for the nearest exit, in a frantic attempt I rushed out and threw up. 

Memories can be delicate and dangerous – a double-edged sword – can slay the reaper as well as cut the keeper. How I wish we had a pen drive-type memory box instead of the God-given hippocampus… to turn on and off memories that we wish to keep, restore or destroy completely at our will.

The sad part of memory is that unlike energy, memories, can be created as well as destroyed… never replaced. Yet, the memories attempted to be replaced, filters through the phenomenon of truth; where an enforced lie cannot replace or gaslight memory. Memory, is personal, is internal and uninfluenced as this storehouse sits comfortably relying to be influenced by amygdala - the powerhouse of emotions; emotions, that spurs out of experiences - both painful and pleasurable that are personal. This wiring of God, is irreplacable. A dark tunnel that allows only the keeper to enter, explore and exit. 

The very common mistake that people do, is when in a superficial mode to overcome a strong overpowering emotion, thrust an external pressure to convince a person that the memory they hold is incorrect and subject a person to their perspective of what the other’s memory has to be. But why would anyone try to replace another person’s memory? Well, it could be a passively jealous sister-in-law, a conniving lawyer, a greedy mother, a purposeless brother, a corrupt family that may see the pinnacle of selfishness as the crux of success or even an aimless therapist who for reason’s (only) their own, recreate a world that suits their convenience for their victim. But then, truth cannot be destroyed. Though reciprocatively one may agree superficiously for the influencer’s sake, truth, when suffered, erupts when one needs peace the most. At the end of the day, our mind effortlessly remembers what is true and was experienced rather than an enforced effort to replace it with a lie to grab things beyond our reach. Truth, will set you free.

To Do Or Not To Do

Marriages… to comment on it shrouded within chaotic walls, should have been unreasonable. Yet, after passing through corridors of mockery, ridiculing and finally subjugation, to feel as incompetent as an impotent on his honeymoon to fixate an opinion about it, a clarity shook me back to what it is, should be, should have been… 

People, especially the ones closest to you can be the most subtly disturbing as they convincingly convince you with their convictions – these issues can range from which car would be the best pick to values that need to be embraced and those that need to be replaced. These, both the kith and the kin, are the ones who magnanimously shed their light into matters governing your life while keeping their own in the dark. Have you realized, people who are very touchy and would misinterpret and miscommunicate anything and everything… just because, they can; these ‘those’ who live within closed walls and shut doors, have the dirtiest dust accumulated to their nose and hence operate in isolation and secret – lest anyone point at their filth. These sapiens, who hide their own imperfections and issues while periodically taking liberty to implore, amplify and ignite the issues of others, are the dangerous breed that we often hold hands with – especially when we feel lost and off balance. 

Recently, while deliberating to settle a dilemma and reach a convincing conviction on the institution of marriage, there was a talk by a Bishop that I came across. It talked about Christ’s advice on marriage. This was a point that did not occur to me – that Christ had His opinion on this. Had I known, would have consulted Him first. Better late than never. According to Him, a marriage is a commitment forever, till death do us apart; divorce and remarriage are as good or bad as adultery. This was news to those who were listening to Him – His disciples at a time when people married and divorced and remarried as they pleased or to please those around them – just like today. The disciples immediately countered this by stating that, in that case, it would be better to be not married at all. To this, Christ marked his bottom line: It is your wish to be married or to remain a eunuch.  

A woman commonly shows her withdrawal in a relationship by targeting on two things – food and sex. Typically tossed to the partner in the most unhygienic manner, scanty and deprived – both – in a gradient phase. The man on the other hand, usually jumps into another relationship or gives up on it entirely to move into another dynamic. 

How successful are remarriages? Some who shed their light to me recently on this topic, say that remarriages, have always been disastrous as two dropouts trying to engage in group study, are sure to flunk once again. One recent divorcee told me about her recent stint with a guy who she found likely to be a fit replacement… only to realize that once he got what he wanted after a short vacation with him, left her high and dry. She blamed him (again). Like sex was a one-way draw. Some women play the eternal ‘victim’ card I suppose; the problem is, it does not work with everyone, every time I suppose. There was an elderly member of the family who dropped in to say that remarriages take a toll on children as new partners often feel disconnected with someone else’s child and issues of legal heir and property disputes become inevitable – no matter how dramatically careful one is to draw a will, there is always a provision to (ab)use the law by the ‘children of the future’. 

Then I saw something interesting. There was a couple watching a kid bounce a stone in the water - watching how many times it jumped across the water and how far it would go. The kid took the second stone and threw it, and as expected, it bounced a little more and went a little further than the first. The guy held the woman and said, the second chance is when one gets to do better as the first always sets a target to beat. Well, that’s a point…

The Divorce Mills

Fever is a symptom. Nevertheless, a symptom anyone needs to pay attention to. Perhaps an infection post-surgery, maybe something as mild as a prelude to a common cold or a virus that has deep-seated that needs to be uprooted, crushed and destroyed. Like a fever, there is a symptom to warn you when a family breaks or begins to disintegrate; heat... the beginning of unsettling arguments - that perhaps indicates the entry of a 'virus' - a disgusting one, that can often be mistaken for a sales woman at your doorstep offering something that you don't want to buy when you first saw her who soon would enter your family to sell her rotten life-gathered filth and you will soon find a taker from your side, walking past you, to shake hands and make a deal with her. 

Meanwhile, following the Mother-murder-Child Case, even a retard will correlate the presence of Divorce Mills that operate in cities with the network of a sly, evil and third-rate bunch of so called 'professionals' who tempt women into believing that they offer 'life-changing' guidance from legal and psychological angles with their cluster of lawyers and psychologists - to turn their miserable virus-entered life into a magical haven to which the poor, pathetic, sympathetic soul offers itself to be sacrificed in their chambers. Result: Episode after episode of life-changing suffering that may lead to becoming unrecognisable even to herself when she looks at herself in the mirror. A true achievement of the virus indeed.

Virus and Divorce Mills when combined, look for an opportunity, a weakness that makes a woman fly into its closing Trap. A trap that is set knowing the person's weakness. Like a fly that turns itself in when it stoops itself to lick the waste out of a banana leaf thrown at a wedding ceremony. The bait knowing the woman's weakness that is spread by her neue-confidantes, that the woman takes. 

Thus, a combination of a Virus, Divorce Mill and Trap when combined, does give a life-changing experience that the woman asked for filled with gaslighting and justification to dirty-dance to her pseudo-companions' fantasies. Denying herself of a motherhood, she offers herself as an Ayyah to someone else's child. At the end of the day, just like how modern cricket has degraded itself from classic test matches that tested a team's endurance once to 20-20 quickies played today, every person deserves what they desire. 

As far as the story on my side of the wall goes, the children have grown tall :)        

The Case Similar

Like many of you, the Suchana Seth Case has gotten my attention too. In fact, it is closely watched as it has a lot of similarity to things that bother me these days. For instance:

1. The outcome of what a bunch of legal manipulators and a so called therapist were capable of achieving at the end of a war kindled between a husband and wife - eventually the death of a child

2. The guiltless detachment outside forces were able to bring about between a mother and child - as if that was an achievement(!)

3. The selfish, self-centered and self-indulging self-absorption of a woman elevated as empowerment and elevation of a woman - that moves her to a quicksand pitted by her for her own drowning

4. The helpless suffering of the child crushed by the ruthlessness of not just the mother... yet by the entire system - legal as well as family - that seems to go under hiding when the lifeless child was lowered into the pit

5. The attempt to play the 'victim card' throughout by the woman in an attempt to stereotype and corner the man even after being caught redhanded with blood dripping from her hands

6. The pattern and template used by the legal team of the murderer that is cut, copied and pasted into every case they handle in their attempt to provide 100% guarantee (as advertised in their portfolios in social media) for separation of spouses is not just funny yet also plain stupid and pathetic when the context, the environment and the strength of the enemy is undermined that is going to whack their face like stepping on a hoe

7. Who will be answering the rest of the questions from the ghost of a child who did not get a chance to wake up from his sleep...

Some mothers try to claim a child as a right they have gained through their womb while others claim it as a right gained through their heart. Gaslighting, as a game played by manipulators to convince women into traps outside the context of reality for their own implicit reasons, is understood by many - and the predictability of such games played by third-rate idiots is not just too boring yet also too easy a deal to be dealt with. Finally, the woman to claim that she was used to play along, when she understands that she is in a tight-corner or a fix, is not to be bought, as the decision to play or not to play or to choose others to play on her behalf, was a decision that she made and that aloof sense of elation needs to be put in its place. 

No person is indispensable - at work and at home - sooner the better if everyone can understand that before it is too late and others move on too. Time and tide wait for none and no one can cross the same river twice and it is wise if a red carpet is respected before it is rolled back in forever. As a man, it is pertinent to remain at peace and refrain from the unreasonable and unrealistic fantasy they try to drown you in; compelling yourself to not become the monster they try to create you into; whilst refusing to be neither the victim nor the perpetrator, the attempts and efforts to remould you into something they want you to be for their own convenience, thus becomes a futile effort - as wasted and useless as their own life. At the end of the day, do you think you are not being watched and have you ever heard the prayers of weeping children(?)       

Mother Of Mine

'Mother of mine...' drifted the lyrics of Neil Reid from my son's guitar. A bit stunned by the slow rolling rhythm and the even slower tune that seemed to flow from an even lonelier heart, the ears tried to catch the words that it heard for the first time. 

'Mother of mine when I was young

You showed me the right way things had to be done,

Without your arms where would I be,

Mother sweet mother of mine.' 

...continued the song and there I sat trying to catch a glimpse of my son's drooping eyes. 

For a child abandoned by his mother, to sing the next line, thought he must be really bold: 

'Mother you gave me happiness, much more than words can say,

I thank the Lord that He may bless you, every night and every day.'

Just then, he choked...

'Mother of mine now I am grown and I can walk straight all on my own,

I'd like to give you what you gave to me,

Mother sweet mother of mine...' 

That was when he looked at me and told with teary eyes, 'Don't want to sing this song. It's good but I can't sing this song. It feels like I am singing to her (the mother) this song and I don't want to. I want to sing this song but don't want to for her. I don't want...' 

He dropped his guitar, hugged me and asked, 'Dada, do you think she will be able to take it if I gave  what she gave me(?)'

Those were the times when I had to catch the children and break the fall. As the still face of Mother Mary with the Infant Jesus beamed an unconditional sense of love over us from across the room, as if she was there to listen to this conversation, pointing to the Mother's face carved in wood I told my son, 'There is a Mother to whom you can always sing that song and it will mean a lot to her and to you too...' and he sang.

To Love Or To Hate

 

To hate someone, you must have loved them that much… said I, when my daughter asked why she could neither love nor hate a woman we once knew. My son who was listening to this conversation, quietly replied, “I hate her…” and continued, “… cos I loved her that much.” He looked at me like he was searching through me for his soul and said, “Dada, I loved her more than I love you. I truly loved her.” I said I know. He went on to tell me that he would take the liberty to argue with her cos he knew that she would be there when the storm settles too. “It’s that comfort every child has with their mother,” he said and continued, “…now that she has abandoned, left us and doesn’t want to even talk to us, I too want to be reactionless, neither love nor hate her like Rachael and you are able to do; for now, I hate her…” 

It was then that I realized that hate too is a melting ball of sweetness flowing from a hardened heart. 

Looking at an old photo of my son lying on his tummy, I saw the glowing smile in his eyes, the stubborn comfort in the love assured to him and the mischief in his determination to move forward. I felt hopelessly guilty for having taken that from him. He smiles today, yet with no happiness within. The monsters that devoured this happiness off my child hover my sleep as nightmares. Anger, is something that comes as love and hate overlap and betrayal is all the blind can see - a state that I am in now.