Bone Weary

A Bone-Weary Truth by Attiya Dawood

Truth is the basis of my creation.
No matter how many times in the name of truth
My being was chopped and cut,
Each time like the amoebae,
Every piece of the portioned-off being
Has become a being by itself.
Whenever I was put on the scaffold in the name of truth
Each time I have taken a new birth,
But this dying and being born every minute
Has made me bone-weary.
I want you, my friend
To take away my being from the cross.
Come in front of me,
Whisper sweet nothings in my ears,
Turn the shackles of hypocrisy
into bangles for my hands,
Love me with such a crushing deceit
That my soul not be able to bear it
And free itself
From my tired being.



(Painting of Lazarus at the Gate by Frank Wesley)


Some days just seem to drain life. Not every day. Not all the time. But sometimes the weight of life becomes tiring. I think that there is comfort in knowing that I am not alone in this, comfort in knowing that everyday does not take, and comfort in remembering it won't always be this way.