This earth, in which we sweat, bleed, cry, hate, love, laugh, waste, work, leave, run, walk, eat, explode, lie, and die in. The humans with pores and finger prints. The humans with nails, eyes and hearts. The humans who give birth and produce life. The humans that cheat, hurt and lose their way. The humans who produce vulgarity and indecisiveness, who created this system we suffer in. The humans that refuse to smile. The humans that laugh too loud and are shunned from societies standards. The humans who destroy their life by letting go of realism and all its values and all its strict morals. The humans with no ethics. The humans who love too much and feel too deeply. The humans that waste and bleed for the good and for the bad. The babies. The pure souls corrupted by us. The lucky ones who live in ignorance and bliss, while a child begs for mercy in a box you help built. This world, this world is corrupt. I am no pessimist and I am too full of love and see too much pain for me to look at my bag and hips and wish for more. I am too in love with these humans, who continue to walk to their deaths who continue to walk over me. I can’t help you.
The divine world is were the perfect lies. Where we don’t bleed, or sweat and are unable to create. For He, the God, created the heavens for us to live in without the weight this earth puts on us. Working hard, slacking, living in a dream, thinking of this Eden. Adam and Eve were sent down as a punishment, as the story is told in our sacred books, so before we blindly recognize beauty let us recognize that our life, from Eve’s hands and the path she led, is meant for suffering. We are meant to crash, burn and make the mistakes our imperfect bodies were born to do. We must try to live in truth and justice, knowing all too well this world will swallow itself in its corruption.
Now, love. Love is one of the miracles of this world. No word or artistic expression can help reveal the truth of love when this body of ours loves. Our biggest distractor, maybe even our curse, but we love this love. To kiss the palms of my mother to the everlasting taste of my lovers cheek. This love is beauty. There is beauty in this world. With pain, with happiness, with all the temporary memories. Our hearts when happy, forget there even resides an Eden waiting for some of us. It forgets the Adam and the Eve we came from – and why should we be reminded of the past or the future? I like it here sometimes.
This beauty I see is not detached from all the cruelty residing underneath our feet, but our sneezes, our giggles when the times are wrong, our rush, our vulgarity, our organs, our nervous seconds before we step out, our petty creations and the grand ones, our mistakes, our filthy waste and our beautiful little brains.
By Dina Lobo