MIRACLE REDEEMS A MAN, LIKE A BLOOMING FLOWER IN A DESERT

(for Charles)


i. 
my grandmother, before her death, said: surviving a war is the greatest miracle. 
& i paint a portrait of war as a ravenous beast, that slakes its thirst with blood, leaving trails of shattered bodies in its wake. 

ii.
she fed me with anecdotes of how she survived the civil war, how she rolled into her skin at the sound of deafening blast of grenades.

iii. 
to survive an explosion, you must not bunch up with the crowd. take cover after a bomb has fallen & lie flat on your belly. let your hands bury your fears between the clip of your teeth.

iv. 
what if the war is not without, but within? how then would i escape the battlefield of my mind? 
& she replied: pray & wait for a miracle. 

v. 
a man’s greatest battle is not that of grenades and ammunition, but the mêlée that comes from within, a struggle that lurks in his mind & plagues his thoughts, filling him with uncertainties. by this i mean, the war within is a parasite. 

vi. 
but miracle redeems a man, like a blooming flower in a desert. 

vii.
& the greatest miracle is to survive a war—within or without. so, i choose to confront my chaos & navigate this battle. if i’m lost in this sphere, let it be known that i faced my cacodemon with intrepidness, but if i emerge with my head up high & my victory flag flapping, call me a miracle.