I feel I’ve been completely shunned by society. Nobody wants me. Quite literally been outcast from the metropolis, atleast the old town let’s me survive. I long for the rural, watching the sky. So I go there sometimes. Spend my day caressing the earth. It feels good to talk to the people, watch them work. Their unshakeable belief.
The urban have surrendered to the ominous. I wonder where their faith went. The women around me surely help keep it alive. When I am vulnerable, they may not believe me but they know they must let me find my way out. That circle of people has gotten smaller every passing year. I’m afraid I’m on my very last supply. I’m trying to keep faith, that I have not run out of options to resuscitate.
My body was never this feeble. Now my mind feels weak too. I try to do the simple tasks at home, although I feel I’m becoming ineffective. But I’ve found community, even if it feels like a social contract more than love.
I don’t know why I struggled so hard to find acceptance from others. Why doesn’t anyone believe in me? I have faced all of their resistance. The world lives in so much fear of being destroyed. There is no consideration for that which is already living. There is simply no love for what has come to pass, therefore no understanding of what built it.
Nobody believes the outcast. The martyrs of love they have come to be. Written in words and numbers. But unimagined by a world that didn’t want them to be.
My only resolve is to not abandon my search for redemption. I will keep faith that somewhere love is alive. In the morning when I wake up, I will keep hope that love will arrive. Untainted by judgements of the entire world. Not keeping heavy expectations of my being. Not telling me what to do or who I am supposed to be. Telling me I can finally be free.
I have sensed it is already here. I am trying to not be overtaken by dismay. I am trying to see through the anger I feel at this world, and feel what they call the revolutionary zeal. Which only a few may understand, fewer still embody, yet countless will repeat.
I am learning to be wary of the doubtful who can only ask why. The hopeless have stolen our freedom. They’ll find new words for inflicting new tragedies.
I want to live and create meaning for this life. I want to tell the future, as long as we are under the same sky, the revolution will never abandon you.