Arpan’a’

Consider this:
our babies are taken away,
our males are castrated
to pull your ploughs and carts,
our females are purposely raped
by other species (including yours)
and veterinarians.

Our noses are pierced,
our necks yoked and collared,
our nails and tails cut,
our horns filed,
our beaks culled,
our backs saddled,
our hips whipped,
our butts branded,
our wings and ears clipped,
our hairs shorn,
our hides chipped,
our feathers plucked,
our tits enlarged,
pulled, squeezed, sucked,
our legs are trapped,
our feet are chained,
our soles burned,
shoed, nailed…

Our minds are broken and twisted
by the “dresseure”
and our fur (if not skinned)
with a coiffure;
our bodies (if not stuffed)
grotesquely expanded or shrunk,
our milk and honey stolen,
our flesh chopped,
our fat melted,
even our fresh blood drunk.

In fact,
from our point of view,
we shouldn’t have ever
trusted you:
your homes and farms
are our concentration camps!

You squeeze us together
or keep us apart
- fenced, caged, barbed;
electrocuted,
crippled and mutilated -
pump us with drugs,
turn us into cannibals,
drive us insane
with boredom and loneliness
or constant stress and pain,
and deprive us of rest,
fresh air and sun,
and of our way
of life and love.

You may sometimes
call us pretty names,
like your “work-buddies”
and your “pets” and “best friends”,
but think who you are to us:
our mortal enemies
- neither mates nor stewards!

My seed was healthy
and my soil fertile,
but, as soon as I shot forth,
I was quickly picked up
and placed on a naked rock,
and, as if that wasn’t enough,
my trunk was twisted,
my branches clipped,
my roots systematically cut…
till my juices almost dried
and I grew shrivelled and crooked
according to some cruel design
- a grotesquely pretty pygmy
instead of a mighty pine.

Perched on mere stones,
under constant attack
of bites and blows,
I’m a stunted cripple
fighting for dear life,
and nobody knows;
no one understands
that my body looks mature
but I’m still really
just a starved infant.

I am also caught,
like everyone else,
in a game of competitiveness.

I still want to impress;
prove my worth
by knowing, doing, being
“better than others”.

What an illusion
and what a useless pursuit,
when there has never been
now will ever be
anyone
like either you or me!

We’re, actually, incomparable:
each one is chic
and unique.

If you cannot love
but only hate,
then, yes, please,
go and sit in a cave
and transmute your poison
- don’t pollute the environment.

But if you love
and keep falling in love,
then, come along
and serve everyone
- we’ve been waiting
for such a one!

Do not hide
- guilt and shame
are a waste of time -
but share your wealth:
you can offer only that
which you have felt…

They say that ego
is Your favorite food
and I used to think
I should have none.

But now I see it differently:
I should have a big one
so that, again and again
You have to come:

come and feed on it
to Your heart’s content…
It would be plain cruel
to have any other intent!

Bite and snatch it away,
or lick it clean, my Dear
- do as you please,
just keep coming near…

If You ever catch me mudslinging,
let my dirty words
turn into pure gold
even before being told.

And if You ever find me leg-pulling,
let my petty deeds
turn into kind balm
even before being done.

I’d like to be Your pride,
not just Your amusement,
but only Your Mastership
lifts me into graceful Partnership.

You’ve been talking to me
from without and within
for a very long time
- ceaseless is our conversation.
But I just note down
all the amazing information
and forget, conveniently forget
it’s also meant for “practication”.

Actually, I don’t mind
- I’ve already renounced liberation:
I’ll remain Your flute,
played by Your fingers
and kissed by Your lips…
As long as You hold me this close
who can bother about salvation?!

That old sailors’ story
of a ceaseless movement
from imperfection
to a perfect glory
doesn’t mean
you’ll become
anyone else but you
- only more satisfied;
completely at ease
with the way
you’ve been designed.

And you’ll praise the Lord
for how perfectly imperfect
He made you,
the boat
and the rest of the crew.

You’re so clever
and so gently mean;
You’re the greatest trickster
in the whole wide world:
gave me gift of gab
to turn my mourning-song
into Your eulogy and paean
and my bitter tears
into Your jewels and pearls.

You’re so proud
and so sweetly vain;
You’re most self-indulgent
in the whole wide world:
gave me a wild heart
to turn my frantic running
into Your extatic dance
and my sadness
into dreams of loving You.

There’s a “time for the world”
and there’s a “time for God”:
there are worries
which no one else can ease
and questions
that no other can resolve.

When all seems too messy
and way too unfair;
when I’m tired of struggle
and life is just a nightmare,
it’s time for a time-out
and another reality-check.

I talk to my Sustainer,
I sigh, I cry, I complain,
I fume, rage and wail,
let grief and self-pitty reign.
He listens so well,
He hears and He understands:

His lap supports
my shivering weight
and His chest absorbs
my bites, fists and nails…
every angry and sad spasm of mine
until I’m completely done.

In the pools of my tears
on His palms
I then see a crystal-clear
reflection of mine:
in my eyes a little twinkle
and on my lips a tiny smile…

Oh, how I love Him then
- Him, me, the whole world -
there are no more obstacles
I couldn’t surmount,
no difficult task
I couldn’t or wouldn’t do!

And off I go again,
from the comfort of His lap
to a busy, crowded room,
knowing I’m ready for all
… until it’s time
to once more return.