Blind Faith

Simra Sadaf

In your poorly constructed poems,
you write his name over and over,
comparing his presence to the moon,
that even the stars frown upon.
Your relentless chanting of his name
has caused your ancestors
to rise from the ashes and
show you the truth,
but his words are caressing
your lips to a silence,
his fingers numbing your rationality,
while you place him on a
pedestal above god.
This is how you worship him.

Poets are liars,
but you, baby girl,
are the worst of us all.
You make love look as beautiful
as the crimson sky,
and I, a human chaos made of dust
and skeptical elements,
let that shatter my ribcage.
I let abandonment sleep with me,
but you are letting a monster under
your covers every night.
You steal words from my pen’s silence,
dip them in the confetti
of his twisted loyalty and
sprinkle them on his collarbones.
This is how you worship him. 

Your existence is flawed,
but you question the flaws
in your mother’s teachings,
in your father’s earnings,
in your religion.
You were not made from his rib,
like Eve was from Adam’s.
you were not made to chug grief
like he chugs his beer.
You were not made to
be his companion,
but you still want him to stay,
so you let him fuck you,
but baby girl,
he will only bring
flowers to your funeral,
not your memories, not his love,
his love bites are venomous,
you let him poison you every night.
This is how you worship him. 

Your god is destroying you.
you are loving it,
you are letting him.
Has he told you he likes the
sound of your laughter,
or that you are the most beautiful
woman to ever walk on the
face of this earth?
Has he told you the story of him
being unloved by his father,
so to prove he is loved,
you lay your hand on his belly
and make love to him while trying
to find a home in his soulless body.
This is how you worship him.

Simra Sadaf, from Chennai, India, has pursued her Master’s in English Literature. With a Bachelor’s degree in Sociology, she has an abundant knowledge about the workings of a society which she incorporates in her writings. Literature drives her spirit and words churn her soul.