Take me someplace better. Help me find something better than this worn, jaded, cracked scrimshawed jewel existence. I use that slightly obscure image because that’s how it all seems: hazy, messy, broken and weary. I walk dizzying path after dizzying path, my feet scraped, bruised and hurting. I find no inn, no ramshackle hut and not even a clearing where I can rest. The landscape is post-apocalyptic and ashen, the trees stark and barren, and the air smog filled and asphyxiating. I’ve cried until I can’t anymore. I’ve died again and again, only to be reborn as a weak Phoenix of sorts – not one that haunts the abusers and haters, but one that’s shot down and burned only to rise weaker each time, to barely fly just over the cracked earth and the craggy surface. You’re my only hope, but you seem so far away even though you’re near like the Christian God who’s omnipresent, but also distant. I feel that very Jehovah’s wrath each time the sun strikes me blind and knock-kneed, I force myself to carry on, but fall on the mud, the stench of littered earth rushing through my nostrils and setting my head spinning, my thoughts racing, my eyes blurring, my mind reeling and my pain engulfing, enveloping and entrapping me. Be my muse or at least inspiration when I travel because the thought of you should mean something, the dreams you create must stand for something and you as both a person and a force – the woman who makes me – must be everything. So, take me someplace better than this room with cigarettes on the floor and booze and my puke. Help me bathe in waters of redemption and cleanse myself – a quiet, tranquil purgatory – before I finally rest in your arms.
© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)