Nothing is a sudden roar of trumpets
God doesn’t come to open gates for me.
I was going through life not knowing its language
Lost in an exoplanet, suffering its melancholy.
Until you sat me down, to look me in the eyes,
And scribbled on sand, symbols I could understand.
Over gruelling days I learnt to discern simple words,
The syntaxes that sewed them together
Every phrase and structure.
Then painstakingly did I grasp it all, little by little
Melting away to reveal the sunset in all its technicolor glory.
This is every version of the whole truth,
Unequivocally and straight from my heart.
It’s you who gave me language, so the feeling is all yours.
All my knowledge, down to measly constituent parts of my every thought, is conquered by you and your regime of truth.
