Our Heaven is Here, Our Hell is Here

What if heaven and hell aren’t places you go after death, but consequences you create with every action?

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For those who look up to the skies with searching eyes,

look all around us, our heaven is here, our hell is here

They are all liars, the holy ones with their beseeching cries,

they do not seek your salvation; they simply do not care

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When you smile with joy, seeing a lovely piece of art,

the beautiful flowers of heaven, you can indeed smell

When jealousy scars your soul and burns your pure heart,

you can feel the searing heat of the flames of your hell

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When you taste your lover’s kiss and her warm embrace,

the cool breeze of heaven surrounds your whole being

When betrayal murders your ego and brings you disgrace,

the fires of hell consume you without you ever seeing

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When you choose to be kind without any expectation,

the rain clouds from heaven drench you with humility

When you are selfish and within reach of damnation,

the serpent of guilt suffocates you with sheer hostility

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When you hold a tired hand much in need of your help,

your heart becomes heaven, filled with His affection

When you hit a dog without any care for his yelp,

the poisonous scorpion of Karma makes its own selection

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There may come an end, there may be a judgment day,

you may be judged by Him; He may be kind or merciful

But when you make a choice, you always have to pay,

you may create an ugly hell or a heaven so beautiful

The Anatomy of Self-deception

What if the love you feel isn’t real, the path you’re walking doesn’t exist, and admitting you’re lost is the only way to stop being damned?

A brutally honest poem exploring the dangerous habit of self-deception in matters of love and life purpose.


Sometimes, love doesn’t need words,

the essence breathes in a shy, fragrant smile

But then, you see what you want to see,

from up close, even when away by a mile

Sometimes, there is and was no love at all,

and assumptions sweeten the taste of bile


Sometimes, you do not even need love,

yet you convince yourself, it is needed

But then, you’re habitual of creating needs,

in places where life itself has conceded

Sometimes, love as a concept is not logical at all,

yet your counsel to yourself remains unheeded


Sometimes, you focus on one, losing yourself,

everything becomes one with no space for you

But then, there was never meant to be a you,

you become a falsity, and the other becomes true

Sometimes, your focus just brings more pain,

yet you focus on, as though you have no clue


Sometimes, you are not walking any path at all,

there was never a start, and no destination

But then, you walk on as though it’s the last path,

as though in walking, there lies your salvation

Sometimes, you are just as lost as you always were,

yet you fail to admit, making it your true damnation

The memory of pain

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Pain does not end when the wounds heal. Instead, it survives as memory, breathing through regret.

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The memory of pain perhaps causes more pain,

when all was exposed, an artery and a vein

The exposed nerves kissed the cruel air;

while the dark, flowing blood, left a stain

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The memory of pain is walking the road of regret;

each step burdensome — breath, blood and sweat

Kicking small clouds, dust of old guilt,

the downward journey is certain and all set

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The memory of pain is smelling the stink of loss;

the rainclouds have long gone, as speaks the moss

The body breathes on, drawing in the poison;

soul becomes the victim and is hanged on the cross

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The memory of pain is an assault on the senses,

the heart is filled with misery, thinking of pretences

All exposures and encounters, victory of the ego;

the eyes fill with tears, surrendering all defences

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The memory of pain is what keeps some alive;

breathing and moving, trying to survive

With each dawn, there is hope, salvation or damnation;

the wait is balanced delicately on the edge of a knife