Brother, Brother

paper doll angels

Brother, brother

No I will not come to your house

to participate in the charades of niceties

where behind them lie the pain of truths

you cannot see…

For brother, brother, it is my mother you should thank

she gave to our father the freedom to feed and care for you, your mother, and my sister

void of me

Years, went by I lived after the age of six without knowing my father

only to realize upon his death that was the year he married your mother

I then knew why I lived without

It still did not lessen the effect

after he and I connected

he told the father of my children

he did not know why

for all those years he did not care…

the yearning in my heart for so long to love a father I did not know…but needed

the gift my mother gave away

his obligation to me

given to care for your mother with twins in her womb

Is it no wonder after I brought to him

his first grandchild

he began to care…

and your mother came in to the rescue to give to them

what she took from me…

it is no one’s fault

not yours, nor mine

we were children at the mercy of our parents

I blame not anyone

what is, is what is

but the truth is there too…

I can look at it objectively can you…

For all those years the gifts I sent

and now in recent times of need

when I called upon you

you could not return my call…

Oh brother, brother

you did not invite me…

but your mother did…

but I cannot go there and dance among

the heathen who think they are full of church, and God and pomp and circumstance…

when the truth is, you would do more for another

than you would do for me…

Maybe it has been a bitter pill for me to swallow

when our father died…

and your mother did not

show the doctor’s what I found

and your wife had a fit to change his residence of care…

when the truth is, it could have been

a cure…

whether true or not

this is true…

when I cried out

she came and brought me to your shelter

told my sister she was my boss…

paper dolls on the bed

she probably feared

she’d have to do more than care on the surface of matters

and what would happen to her world…


Then once upon a time

my sister I took with me

and upon a return

a secret was told to your mother

she kept it for so long, long after more damage was done…

for she said to me, your father would have killed him

if it were true

but instead she let me live with him

and the grandchildren she seems to care about

was it nothing but a lie

yet she goes on to meddle

into my blood affairs….

and thus….I think it is true

those closest to us, have the most capacity to hurt us…

often unaware

but to those living in survival mode

without consciousness of true love

its just a mask they think they wear

when behind it all

it was a glass house

….so break the facade…now I do wide open…like a gauntlet thrown to the ground crashes…the past is the past…

I harbor no ill will

just awareness now

and I cannot go where

demons dress up

and pretend to care…

I suppose we have all been enchanted a time or too in self folly

so this is no self righteous indignation…

it is a choice

to not endorse

the games humans like to play unaware…

the older I get the less I need to be reminded of such travesties


Religion like a paper doll, if there is no love there, there is nothing to be found there

Nothing to be yoked by, unequally I am not found there, nor will I be…

There was a time, I would stand in such crowds, and fight by silence to be love by example and actions, but those days are fading as I now see, all they saw was a paper doll and could never see the heart of truth beating love underneath. Now I toss their paper dolls back….maybe one day there will be something underneath of substance that will shine far more than the superfluous flesh and ego needs.

If your life was your message, what would it say if you looked back on it. Thinking of how Easwaran’s books have inspired me to think.

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