There is this pitch dark statue at one corner of my house
That calls me towards it with its black open arms,
At times I sit numb in front of it.
Contemplating, "O, what beauty you have got. Oh, what charms!"
As I'm ranting around about my daily frustration
Trumpeting tantrums, spitting on my shoe,
The hushed up statue livens up at night, whispering:
"Don't worry, I'm coming for you."
These whispers have become a regular business now
It talks about life, the life after death,
"You'll live in a bright place, as hot as a sunny beach. You'll sweat like a pig."
Is the recent thing that the statue said.
I forget my dreams easily, you know
But these whispers are real I guess,
It's scary and I'm scared to have dreams again.
I'm no hero, I confess.
Tonight the statue was really closer to me, this closer
And it had a no-face face,
I don't remember how loud I screamed
But next, I woke up at a very hot place.
It is too hot here.
It is burning up my skin,
I can feel my liver burning up like pork
And so is my heart within.
But I have company now.
There are others likewise, roasted down here,
We have formed pusses and big sores on our body.
We stink and putrefy the air.
Atleast I'm saved from the floggings.
Mr. No-Face says, "I'll whip them with a rod: they are defiled.
You may thank your God
That you're still a Child."
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