Hell exists and it’s here on earth.
It’s in no exact location but in every path.
It resides in humans, revealed by omens.
Drawn by men, coloured and painted by women.
Hell is there, nowhere and everywhere.
Hell is beautiful and it smells great.
How deceiving. It is unpleasant and it reeks fright, invited by fear.
How clear! It has found home in humanity, it has defeated felicity.
It flows in the soul; a torrent of foul.
Hell is here, anywhere and somewhere.
Hell is siblings with heaven, it lives in the imagination.
If in heaven there is joy, so is the beginning of hell.
If heaven is for the chosen, so is the core of hell.
If heaven can be chosen, so are the choices that lead to hell.
Hell is reality!
We are like living earth.
We are as moist as fertile mud, we have a lot to give.
When we are dressed, it’s like trees and flowers grew from us.
We’ve mastered motion and movement such that we have created dance from rhythm and melodies.
We are like dust, our presence is acknowledged.
In windy days leaves concede, navigating from the ground to another south.
We stick and it is known, we leave a mark.
For without us perhaps there would be no grounds.
For without us perhaps people would be flying in the atmosphere.
For without us there is no standing.
We are the earth; the soil.
It’s now just another cat as if it has no teeth.
It has fallen from predator to prey.
It is left all alone, it has no pride. It has lost all respect, hyenas do not even recognize it anymore.
It stopped walking and started crawling slowly towards jaguars.
They glanced at it and gave it leftovers.
Thousands of scavengers worked together and carried it to the river.
Hippos peeked and a calf brought it water.
From the outside it looked healthy and strong.
It was not physically sick, it might have forgotten that it is a lion.
It is stuck in a mental prison, even other animals in the near jungle pity it.
They feed it, it is no longer the target of envy.
It’s dead alive.