Self Painting as a Footage on God’s Knee

Inspired by “Abattoir”.

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After several years of abandoning home,

finally, I succeeded in poulticing it on

the upper basement of a tiny bluestone

And a friend asked me; if I still remember

the taste of water and sycamore. If I still

have sharp documentaries of the last psalm

I sang before the footage of a dreadful god.

And I tell him — the skies are witness to all

the sorrows sprouting in my body. By that,

I reduce the gods hovering around my body

to pretty dwarf flower at least for the sole amusement of self painting. I let myself open

for the elasticity of salvation. In the church,

the clergy half way into the morning mass

service — makes an illustration of God with

his right thumb pointing towards the scars

I have kept as a penetration into the scroll of memory. As if to say; what if God is a man

with no sprout of memory or laughter but pretending to call the sky home? Last night,

I dreamt of walking towards a group of mulattoes

singing their voices in baritone like thunderclaps.

And I wonder if the body too is an aftermaths

of sounds, of what we create out of heartbreaks.

Which means, sometimes, the body can be

a hologram where hope is the imagination

of ourselves fogged on God’s knee — bending!