the thing about this belief that i hate the most

at first, i couldn't understand the bigger scheme of things. i couldn't fathom why he or she or you or i should hate each other because our imaginary patrons were not the same, or why they may tell us to never lay arms upon one another - except when we do not share the same imaginary patrons, in which case it's a justified free for all. i could not  comprehend why and to what ends wars are fought, or persons oppressed, or people demeaned, or lives shunted, all for the sake of incomprehensible greater goods. and i accepted that. i accepted that there could be no way that a person so feeble as myself could warrant or see through my invisible proxy's eyes. soon, i grew weary, and all these matters were not - they did not matter any more - and i could, for a moment, understand that there was no way i could understand.

then came effort without reward, and reward without effort. punishment without sin, and perhaps most incomprehensible of all, wrongdoing without punishment. i could not hope to question why my imaginary patron falls before yours, or why yours would before mine, or if there was only one of many, then why we could not agree to appease the same friend?

and i hated every bit of this, with the renewed hatred of the old lack of understanding.

but most of all, i grew to hate that which was petty and menial, and inconsequential in the bitter eyes of the cosmos. i hated that you could not be with me because we did not share the same fanciful friends and fairies. i hated that, though they told us many, many things, this alone would be the reason why we could not be together. and i hated 'it' as much as i hated them. i hated that you could bend and break some of your creeds, of whose basis i cannot even empathise with, but because it was told that i am of different breed and understanding and foresight and lack thereof, then i am evil and corrupt and taint. and therefore we cannot, should not be together.

now, i hate that this defines me, and who i am, regardless of what i have or would do, and we cannot learn to love because your ephemeral make belief has dictated so - and vice versa has mine.

tomorrow, i will hate that i do not believe any more in them, but still i lie prostrate before my imaginary patron. without heart, without belief, without understanding, and by far, without trust (any longer). i hate that i do not want for it, and yet it has become so embedded in me - they have become so embedded in me - that i will continue to do so, perhaps until the day i die.

i hate that i have become that which i do not believe; i hate that in the same way you will always come to hate me for that which i sought so hard to disprove that i am not.

and at the end of it all, i will hate most that regardless of what you or i, he or she, they or us, have chosen (or better still, brought up) to believe, it will all mean the same: that you cannot see me as more than something less.

the only thing that will, perhaps, create in me more hatred, is if i find out that it has been regardless of what i believe - that you would have hated me anyway.

cik yam’s infinite eyes

lustrous with a silver gleam, with backdrop polished black,
diamonds on onyx reprieve that through light does refract;
a subtle soft like velveteen that lining clouds soothing comprise,
i stared into the abyss long and deep, those fateful cik yam’s eyes.

though in her silent contemplation surrounded by din,
her darting pupils betray what comprehension lies within;
enough to show, that makes mine know, though rays may yet reflect,
untainted eyes that she possesses makes her stare perfect.

to gaze into (and then upon) such innocence belies,
like galaxies, like fireflies, like ocean waves are cik yam’s eyes;
oh, if i pray, that they would see but naught of any horrid worlds,
remain demure and winsome, those ephemeral white pearls.

so soon you would have sunrise pass, cik yam, like a butterfly flit,
i hope to see through such stained glass, those holy eyes of infinite.

why i could never be with a poor, brown, muslim, asian, ugly sod.

you need not be a scientist, of genetics or social trends,
an evolutionist who knows of humankind’s most early ends;
to see he’s of inferior race, who offers but most lowly genes,
who can’t provide my progeny with looks or minds or witless means.

with beliefs i could never live and empathise with, nonetheless,
that zealotry that begets hate and death that’s left the world a mess;
of course it’s only little time before his mind deteriorates,
and leaves his person for some promise of virgins and fathomed fates.
i shudder to think of such loathe, that comes and goes as he may be,
and how would it that he should come to impose such beliefs ‘pon me?
alas, they’re all the same these men, he’d treat me lesser than a mule,
i could not be with such a swine (which he’d make me give up, the fool).

prince charming, of ideal and pale, who muscular and eyes so deep,
where have you gone? what of your lust? why don’t you take me for your keep?
and left me here with scrawny man, of colour - short and ugly, too,
offensive to the very end, insensitive on every cue;
i do not want, i could not wish to teach him to become as you,
pray, let me be, this darkened man, the day i met you do i rue.
if only you could banished be, with all your lack of tactfulness,
repulsive to the very end, you cause me only grave distress.

if only you were somewhat smart, or witty, kind, funny perhaps,
with money to sustain my wants, to make me forget failed regrets?
alas, this man, he is but naught, and none of these could ever be,
the poor, the ugly, repugnant man, who leaves distaste vulgar with me.

and furthermore, if i’ve not said, is his weird culture i’d never grasp,
it’s ghastly, and revolting (like him), that makes him someone i can’t trust;
his people, how they’ve oppressed mine - of race, religion, chance and fate,
the only thing he invokes in me is unpalatable, abhorring, hate.

more than what he is made of, is what he is made up to be,
pathetic, loveless, unsightly, too, and condescending such is he;
possessive like a beast he’d only want to have me made to wed,
for all his selfish whims and wants, if only to take me to bed.

so go away, you poor, brown man: you ugly stupid, muslim boy,
and leave me to my deserved man - even if he treats me like a toy;
i could not care if you would to offer me all your heart and more,
i can’t see past your shallow failings or of your superficial flaw.

oh, how i dream for my true love, that with passionate, sensual lust,
and all you have to offer’s naught, so fsck off, you’ve none of my trust.