"Lucifer"

You’ve found me….vulnerable;
Like a babe sacrificing itself to its mother,
To be quenched by her love.

You now invade my garden of innocence,
Flooding it with the waters of iniquity and doubt.
My petals---the bearers of my conscience, now float atop your evil.

Off you go into the darkness,
Leaving me diseased with sin.
Alas, the flames of divine retribution now await my arrival.

If only thou could harp alongside Yahweh once again;
Flapping your wings rhythmically to the sweet sounds of virtue;
Bearing your armour, as the gladiator of righteousness.

P.S

-Who is Lucifer?
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lucifer

-Yahweh, is the the Hebrew term for "God"

The Politics behind "Slumdog Millionaire"

All of you that have seen Slumdog Millionaire would have to agree that it deserves all the glory it has been showered with by most critics. Jam-packed with zest and clever plot twists, this movie definitely stands as this year’s best picture. Of course, the young actors (Dev Patel, Freida Pinto) scorching up the sliver screen as they give tour de force performances, are among the many reasons why that is the case. But I am not going to continue raving about the magnificence this film---I simply intend on discussing it as a political commentary on globalization. But first, a little synopsis for those that have yet to see the movie.

After losing his mother to a disastrous tribal conflict, the film’s protagonist Jamal Malik (played by Dev Patel) is immediately exposed to the evils slithering within Mumbai (the poverty, corruption, violence etc.). He’s only about 7 when this tragedy strikes his life. This means that he is still surrounded by the shadows of innocence and vulnerability. Sadly, those shadows blindly lead him into the hands of an inner-city prick hunting orphaned children so as to place them as street beggars for profit. He even goes as far as blinding some of those kids hoping to generate more money from the public

Sickening? Obviously. But wait a minute… Let’s focus on the root of all this evil here; the one thing that causes most humans to dive in the black hole of sin,

A scene from Fox Searchlight's "Slumdog Millionaire."

Desperation…

Yes, desperation. He was obviously sick and tired of inhaling the dusts of poverty spreading all over India so he resorted to child exploitation. Clearly, director Danny Boyle was reflecting the harsh realities of India with this storyline because there was no mention of a law suit against him for tarnishing the country’s image (or the famous “over-exaggeration and sensationalization” the media is accused of). Nevertheless, this desperation has been causing many people in third-world countries like India to do things that go against their moral compasses----all in the name of “survival.” It is even more unfortunate that all of them will always be imprisoned by their misery as long as Globalization continues nurturing poverty all over the world.

Many of you must have already heard of the various economic implications involved with globalization; mainly the death of nationalized companies around the world as American corporations “globalize.” But I am more concerned about the social effects; like this child exploitation presented by Danny Boyle in his film. It breaks me that globalization has actually created a vicious cycle. You see, these impoverished kids (like Jamal) are supposed to be the “future leaders’ of their countries---but once they find themselves stuck in a whirlpool of poverty and corruption, they won’t be able to lead their countries towards some kind of success. This obviously allows Corporate America to maintain its reign over these fractured countries, causing more economic pollution to spur.

I am hoping that maybe Mr. Barrack and his gospel for “Change” will try to end this vicious cycle. However, I am not putting too much expectations on him because obviously it is hard to tame American Corporations. But whatever the case, something needs to be done…and fast. I mean, its about (f****) time for the infamous G8 to actually put forth a realistic implementation of the policies they discuss every now and then. I am so sick of watching the “other half” of this world dying a slow, painful death.



P.S-Slumdog Millionaire is still being run by most theatres----go watch it!

“The Abyss”

(Preceding Quote)

“Life is simply an abyss---Humans are eternally damned to gasp for the air of salvation as their souls suffocate under the darkness of that abyss."

(Story)

She had never missed it before…

She watched the train as it railed away into the distance. For a brief moment she felt disheartened; it was as if she had missed the last train to escape this world---a train that was going to take her to some Utopia, or anywhere else she could get rid of the putrid smears of evil that surrounded her.

Her name was Danica Lopez. She had exotic, caramel skin plastered all over her face and piercing, green eyes; giving her a queenly bearing and elegance fit for a goddess. Lest we forget the smooth, black hair that flowed to her knees, causing her to exude a beauty so impeccable she could have passed for a fallen angel. She had now been married to Richard for 15 years and her daughter Marissa, was still treading along the seas of adolescence, dodging their violent waves here and there as she searched for a shore to build her identity fort on.

She looked around the train station and was greeted by the grim faces of those that had also missed their ride. They stood around, motionless; sacrificing themselves to the cold winds of Toronto. Strangely, all of them were gazing at the rising sun, which was now spraying flicks of orange light across the sky. Soon the ghostly fog that had blanketed the city disappeared---it was now time for heaven’s all-seeing-eye to show off its beauty.

As Danica continued prying around, she caught sight of a peculiar young girl holding her mother’s hand firmly; as if to confirm her innocence and need for protection. She had curly, brown hair crowned with dandelions and was also wearing a vibrant, yellow dress engraved with red roses. She began looking directly at Danica with an inquisitive look on her face; one that read, “Who are you Danica, What are you hiding beneath that mask of yours: Fear? Depression? Paranoia?

“All of the above,” Danica silently answered back with a stare. (or was it a glare?)

It was now quite sunny; but the cold winds were still there, prowling around and cursing everyone in their path. Danica began to imagine herself on some island resort soaking up the sun’s heat and sipping a pina-colada to cool her soul. But then her thoughts trailed away, allowing Dr Stephens’ words to sip into her mind once again, like a serpent’s venom.

“Your pancreas has been severely damaged by the cancer; you only have about two years to live, Mrs. Lopez,” he had said, speaking as if he was already standing in front of a corpse.


She had known about the Pancreatic Cancer for quite some time, but she had hoped to survive it just like the battles she had fought before to spare her life. She decided not to scar her mind thinking about what was to become of her beloved husband, Richard---who was noble and blessed with the kindness of a saint. And then her prodigal daughter, who had thankfully begun to shed off the ego that had stolen her heart.

The pain was just too much for her to bear. She then decided that she was going to free herself; to escape the darkness that had been suffocating her soul. So there she was, striding slowly towards the edge of the station platform; ready to fly out of her misery. Desperation raided her fractured conscience, causing her to believe that this was the day of redemption---a chance for her to disappear from the abyss before the darkness devoured her.

A speeding train suddenly came into view, causing Danica’s heart to pound angrily against her lungs as if yearning to be freed. She quickly ascended onto the tracks as the train drew closer---However, an image of her daughter suddenly flashed before her eyes. She was five, with eyes that lit under the sun and a necklace of innocence wrapped around her neck.

“Mamá! Mamá!----Regrese a Mí! Mamá. !” [Come Back to Me], her daughter cried out.

But it was too late…

“Blemishes of Imperfection”

They have cluttered my heart,
Like crows scattered across the sky on a summer’s day.
They sprout endlessly like weeds vomited by the soil;
And the serpent continues to breathe life into them with its silent hisses.

How could his only begotten son be so pure?
How did he avoid inhaling the stale air of sin that lingered in the atmosphere,
Clogging the lungs of those that had once beamed with the light of righteousness.
“He took heed of the holy word of God,” it is said.

Well I tried feeding on those holy words ravenously,
Hoping to nourish myself with purity and virtue.
But I’m still feeble and weak as I bear this vile, cloak of blemishes.
I feel like a caged bird; and my redemption song joins the whispers in the air without being heard.

"Guilt"

I can feel it running through my veins,
Destroying all the blooming flowers of joy growing within me.
It is even weaving a necklace of doom around my heart,
Smothering away the charms love had bestowed upon it.

I beg you to cast away this infectious disease called guilt;
All you have to do is forgive me;
I am after all, a son of Adam;
Wrought by sin and doomed to continuously lust for the forbidden fruit

Please, heed these words I say;
For they are not just being sprayed out from my throat---no,
They come from my heart.






P.S- I love you…..

“Kisimusi”

Alas, it was dawn. The roosters had already started their usual morning concerto, creating a sound so piercing that the creatures of the forest awoke and then eventually joined the symphony. The diamond-studded cloak of dew sparkled atop the musasa trees as the sun spilled its rays over the village. Tinashe immediately sprang out of his bed, put on his shoes, and then ran outside. It was still a bit misty, causing him to look like a piece of night within the white, hazy fog of that wintry morning.

He stopped running once he reached the courtyard and vigorously yelled, “Nayo Kisimusi iyi!” [Merry Christmas Everyone].

Silence.

He remained standing there, wondering where everyone was. “Perhaps I should yell louder,” he thought to himself.

“NAYO KISIMUSI IYI!”

No one answered, except the echo of his voice.

Tinashe started running around the village, bellowing helplessly to no avail. Smokes emitting from the cooking fires was clogging the air, but there was no one in sight-the village had turned into a ghost town.

As he continued on with his hopeless search, he noticed a shadow heading towards his direction. He couldn’t recognize who it was at first, but as the distance between them came to an end , Tinashe was shocked.

He had never seen anything like that in his entire life; it was like chancing upon one of the mystical creatures Papa spoke of in his stories. Its skin color was so bright and golden that Tinashe thought a ray of sunlight had possessed its body. It was also wearing strange apparel that he had never encountered; so strange that he couldn’t decide whether this creature had legs or not. In its hand, was an object he could not recognize; but it scared him anyways because it reminded him of Chiritema the witch and her walking stick.

There was always something suspicious about that walking stick because it was sculptured to look like a snake with protruding fangs. Some villagers even speculated that it metarmophosized into an actual snake with a kiss of death so deadly that crying out to the spirits was not good enough to heal anyone victimized. This made it seem as if Chiritema was the devil’s messenger unleashed from the depths of the earth to spur evil.

Tinashe began contemplating whether the mysterious figure in front of him was a god because it was exuding a celestial aura, despite the strange, dark object in its hand. As he plunged himself into a moment of spiritual awe, it lifted the dark object in its hand and pointed it at Tinashe; what followed was a shrill, deafening noise.

He began to feel the skin on his chest ripping apart, exposing his heart for the mysterious creature in front of him to glare at. Attempts to remain standing were unsuccessful because he began staggering; all the while bleeding endlessly. He had never felt so much pain before. It was manifesting within his body, killing off all the exuberance and happiness he had woken up with. The last thing he saw was soil, the very same red soil he had grown up marvelling at. The one gift from Mother Nature the villagers couldn’t survive without.

And so he lost his life, just as some were celebrating the birth of a King.



PLO!
-This is a fictional story.
-Chiritema means “It’s dark.” Not in terms of color, but more in terms of evil.
-Tinashe means “God is with us”
-This story is set during the post-colonial period of Zimbabwe, preferably the 60s. It was still under British control, called Rhodesia rather than Zimbabwe, and its citizens had gradually conformed to some Christian values (hence, the Christmas celebrations).
-The massacre that occurred in this village would have been one of many at that time because the British were on a killing spree to exterminate everyone in opposition of their rule.
-to read more about Zimbabwe’s war for independence, (which is called the “Second Chimurenga“), follow these links:

http://www.nationmaster.com/encyclopedia/Second-Chimurenga

http://www.glob.co.zw/archives/reminder%20of%20the%20price%20of%20liberation.html

“I left my heart in Zimbabwe…”

It was 7:00 pm on a Wednesday evening and I was sitting on the train having one of my usual contemplative moments. I was really exhausted because I had spent the whole day discussing the economy with the white collars of Toronto. Hence, it didn’t take long for me to fall into a little fatigue hallucination.

I began to see myself as a little boy in Zimbabwe once again, running free-spiritedly under the hypnosis of scintillating wildflower scents. I could even see the sunset beautifying the heavens with its aura, creating a blanket of vibrant colors that were unfortunately going to be devoured by the evening darkness.

“Maruva, Maruva, come back home!” a voice echoed in the distance. It was my grandmother. I quickly dashed home and was greeted by the mesmerizing aroma of the food she had prepared for us.

(God I miss her…)

Unfortunately, my moment of reminiscence was short-lived because the sirens of the train started to wail endlessly, as if to announce that the world had finally reached the 11th hour. I then walked out of the train feeling extremely depressed because it dawned to me that I really miss my country.

I understand that Zimbabwe is in the middle of political turmoil but I still find myself yearning to go back. I have a feeling doing that will help me  piece myself together. That perhaps instead of being a fragmented mosaic, I will become a unified person with a solid identity. But then leaving Canada means that  I am essentially quitting my search for the North Star of success.

So once again, I am drowning in my own thoughts and I do not know which one of them to embrace.

(Sigh…)