by Neesa Suncheuri
My life externally appears enviable.
I have a house, and happy children.
A corporate job, expensive suits.
I keep up with the Jones’.
by Neesa Suncheuri
My life externally appears enviable.
I have a house, and happy children.
A corporate job, expensive suits.
I keep up with the Jones’.
by Neesa Suncheuri
Before I died,
I had powers. Evil ones.
As a youth, when I was mortal,
I wanted to fly,
Bend metal,
Move things with the mere force of my mind.
by Neesa Suncheuri
Without God, so weak, I was but a waif.
But then His leadings removed my regrets.
Divine light and wisdom guided me safe.
No more anxiety nor grief nor frets.
Dear Lord, or deity that is out there… if You are…
I’m not sure these days.
I offer an obligatory thanks to You, for creating me.
For shaping me in Your image.
I know that I will never have prayers answered,
Unless I thank You.
Such I have been told by the church community’s rhetoric.
And so I do, I thank You with compulsion.
The sixty-eight rattles down the tracks filled with tired, tattered humanity on their way home from the workday, or on their way to start the night-shift. The pungent odor of sweat, diesel, and vomit assault the senses of a man sitting by the door. He looks around. The young, well dressed man in the adjoining seat gazes intently at his Kindle, his body language stiff and withdrawn as if saying, “leave me be.”