#21 Father, are you there?
From An angel who stayed on Earth-

-Akila Sridhar
I can hear people giving up. Whiff of air and I know they’ve given up. One sigh and I know they’re looking for excuses and one glance, I know they’re done. It pains me. It makes me feel the hollow within and forget the halo above. I wish I could toss it aside and help them out. But I’m made to wait. I’m made to watch. Why father? Why can’t we step down and why can’t you descend? My brothers have left. They’ve gone afar and maybe you’ve locked them away -for good. But I’m helpless here and I’m losing my sight. I’m losing the battle of faith. I see my siblings rejoice victory but I’m losing in something worse- I’m losing you. I can’t see clear no more and you’re missing. Did my brothers get to see you? Hear you? Or were they asked to leave? Were they punished cause they can not perish can they neither die. They’re your children after all. But I think a lot. I ponder. Were they the ones punished or am I? I’m made to feel pain and see tears. I’m made to watch. I see death dance and birth surrender. I’m seeing plotting and deceit. I witness pain and fear. Everyday. Were they punished in confinement or me with limited
independence? I’m tied and kept dumb. I wait for your orders and I hear nothing no more. I scream into nothingness and no companion to see me. I feel like I’m in limbo but I’m here for the world to see. I see everything but nothingness greets me.
“Hello darkness my old friend”, but he too escapes me.
Wasn’t I destined to help and make life easy for your pet project? Then why aren’t they feeling better or at ease? Do they know that we watch over them? I panic at the thought that they don’t or is it for the better?
The homo-sapiens think death brings them to you, they think it’s the end and that’s salvation. Little do they know they’re wrong but who is to correct them? Who is to tell them that they’re already on vacation and this is merely a time off from the real world upstairs? Who is to tell them that not all those they see are sinners and all those they don’t are saints. They think love is for granted and money to be earned. Oh boy, how wrong can they be? Not all those who have are winners and not all those who lose are lost.
They burn the piers and leave it to float. They don’t seem to count the memories but just the coins from their past. They cry in pain and call for you in vain. They don’t appreciate and don’t create. They haven’t seen what I have, they haven’t been on the other side. They are lost but pretend to have found. They don’t make it to the end and end where they should start. They fight, they tear, they tare, they bleed and they scream. They’re petty and I’m silent. I see them mourn day after day. I see them lose and I see them accuse. But I’m silent, for I have learnt it from you. You’re almighty but so high up there that we’ve never seen. Is this me awaiting your entry or doubting? Is this me nearing my solution or wetting the game? Is this my defeat or your victory? Are you waiting for a grand entry or have you moved on?
Father, are you even there?
It’s not that my love for them didn’t stem from you. I adore these creations- for they have a touch of you in them. I envy them, I crave them- for they’re your favourites. I blame them and I savour them- for they have your attention.
But father, I was your first born- was I so wrong that you had a gazzilion more or so pure that you had a gazzilion more?
Am I better off with my brothers than here guarding the walls?
Am I better off with family or than my responsibility?
Am I better off as a team or alone waiting for a call, I don’t seem to get?
Am I protecting them or waiting for them to cease?
Am I a protector or looking for protection?
Am I waiting for you or hiding from you?
Wild maybe but doesn’t it worry you that they might call us creeps for staring at them day after day- into their sins and lives. Or would they worship us if they could see us?
Are we like my cousins- the pageants or are we here to stay? If I am different, how? Father, would you have answers or is this a riddle I have to sort on my own- like everything else? Does this make you a good teacher or an ignorant father?
Is your victory in mine or my loss?
Father, are you even there?
