DREAMS AND MELANCHOLY

I know how cliched it is to complain about winter. My winter season was fairly mild, weather-wise. I didn’t get stuck in the snow or lose my footing on the ice. My house was warm. No, it wasn’t a physically painful season, nor an especially inconvenient one as winters sometimes are. But for me, it was dark months filled with depression and torture of the psyche. All that I thought I knew about the character and content of my nation was proven wrong. Every optimistic thought, so carefully cultivated through years of self-training, was crushed under a giant weight. This is the weight of loss, the reality of watching one’s homeland turn to cruelty, to indifference, to outright hatred. To a potentially fascist state. All in the time it takes for a season to turn.

The world spins
On lies
Tilts on greed
Revolves on anger
Rotates on control
You can’t stop the mighty sun
From rising over and again
Nor the cruel seasons
From wreaking their havocs

If you think about it
Prayer is just a way
To beg forgiveness
For all the falsehood
The corruption
The violence
Manipulation
Savagery
The hurt inflicted

And the prayers are answered
But only in your head
Because, face it
Who is there to listen?
Who hears the animals d’terre?
But the world is satisfied
Dreams of heaven
That delusion
(If only good people go to heaven
It’s an empty place)

And the orb keeps spinning
The ugly rotations endure
Heaven will wait
The injured accept the slant of the seasons
And the tilt continues round