Faith is beyond the reach of this troublesome mind, a mind that is divided in shapes of evil and love…
I say love because love can not be evil.. can it?
Our creators are our effigies of goodness, our epicenter of faith..
And yet they are in the essence only human… and yet creators.. but only human.. so is there no god?
No supreme being that spins the wheel of time…?
Whoever preached a notion as such.. that trust was to be known and felt,
Faith was to simply exist..
The preacher neglected, pressed on without speaking of the existence of the mind…
The mind that seeks the future, questions the past..
Hunts the present… Breaks every molecule into a subjective form..
Drawing meaning out of every twist of faithful fate…
Brewing a story of every tone of every murmur beneath the lines that were uttered in callously passing moments..
Or did the being, the preacher know… but was only donning the role of god? an impostor or real? I know not…. for I know neither trust nor faith
I wonder if we are to be faithful,then to whom are we to ask questions? Or are we to not question life?
To what is faith endowed? To where does faith lead, to what end does faith seek? An ambition…?
If I don’t question, I shall never know..
But Oh, it is such a hurtful spin of guts in the heart…
To not know and to not trust.. to spin stories from instincts and fearful brush of loss..
Trust a fellow being, trust the moment, the trust the foot prints in your path, trust the hand that rests on your forehead..
Trust thy own self?And trust another like thy own self?
Both being knots that either steady your heart, or burn a ditch in it..
Ohhh.. the sufferance, if I do and the drought of solace in the mind if I don’t;
Ain’t it grueling ? A harsh form of blistering trust that there is…
Which intuition lies, and which values and speaks for our well being?
If we are to trust every word, every notion, If we are to trust our every thought..
Will every move for the trust, turn and walk backwards to embrace you..
All golden flowers and warm light draw a beautiful frozen frame of what life could be..
And yet none can not stop my mind from questioning trust and faith..
A wishful palm rises up… waving at that frame.. at the picture in the mind of this unreal color of rain…
A wishful palm rises to calm the questions.. only for a minuscule moment..hope simmers, soothes and walks softly in the rain.