Rokaya Chaarani
There was a time I believed hearts naturally pour and plunge into pools of love,
There was a time my eyes saw the world in a rose-colored light,
There was a time I sang paper moon songs and danced to their polka tunes,
There was a time my wide eyed zeal for life was gigantic to the point
That I almost got blinded by its incandescent paper lights.
There was a time I truly believed in the kindness of human hearts.
Then the snowball effect of existence showed me the greatest epiphany.
Life is a dark comedy, a revenge tragedy,
Life is the creepiest spoof of the most tragic play that’s ever been written.
Now the meaning of the real life is displaying before me like a stream of consciousness:
Humans worship the beast, breathe for the beast and live for the beast,
Humans are ravenous automatons preaching paper accolades and feasts,
Automatons wail and hustle and kill and rape and tug wars to please the beast.
Humans are savages; the beast burrows their gothic instincts
Under drawers of diamonds and credit cards, of gold and silver and silk and skin marbles,
Behind graceful identities and gestures, phony smiles and doll mansions.
Now I carry paper lanterns to shield my eyes from the paper bulbs of the good life.
I find solace in art, poetry and botanical gardens, for therein lies my light.
I behold the new light in the dwelling of God, for therein the beast appears like a bantam.
I have lampooned the beast, now the beast holds me to ransom.
I am slandered, accused of madness and sentenced to loneliness.
I’d rather live in the dim light where there’s no verdict, and thrive in the darkness
Than have to follow the beast’s streetcar of desire and wallow in his phoniness.
My core is hitherto white and hopeful but the innocence is lost. Nevertheless,
I believe love wanders in clean states far-off the dirt where greed and decay float;
My new eyes search for true light and beauty in dark places and shadowy corners;
I sing to the hideous reality while dancing to the melodies of magic and angels
I turn my searchlight on what’s bona fide, on what’s untouched by paper light crusaders
And because friends and brothers and sisters turn out to be our nemeses
I have no choice but to wish for the kindness of strangers.
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