Not a single soul disbelieved in that miracle. The baby has survived during delivery. Could it be not and I am in view for the twentieth year now and on me, the onlookers’ gazes rest dumbfounded every time?

Everyone was left hardpressed to solidifying anything but a sense of surity in otherworldly miracles. And so, GOD’S backing was and shall perpetually be won by me, leastwise that’s the illusion with which I was indoctrinated.

Through the keyhole of my resurrection, deathly melancholic, I get a fisheye view of my odds’ labyrinth. “A murderer”, maybe this is what I was. Thoughts kept altering to whirlings and clankings that oxidized my brain as they come to pass, for if it wasn’t me, then who?

They knew I wouldn’t rule out the possibility, which is such a good ground to sowing the seeds of guilt. Only if the infant I was could handle hurting the celestial and the terrestrial likewise, he would have screamed from his broken mirror: “Sapiens, it was a stillbirth!”…

Or maybe I was a victim and that God gushed out of me avenging the blindfolding willpower I had to exist, and now nothing’s left but some holy remnants triggering the black hole’s unbridled desire to sweep this erratic existence.

“Although you look like him, and he looks like you, you and your God will never look like each other. And if being alive means recognizing that God within, then you’re dead now.”, that black hole wails, ringing the caution bell as it spins.

Shortly after it devours me, that black hole despairs me in pain and withdraws to come back later, hoping that I’d have pulled off this vicious cycle, either I got rid of the simmering bits of God that kept dragging it in my direction, or I made it to get the God back home.

Never before have I been this disheartened to weather this mirror’s mirthless echo summoning me and my reflection for a trial. Though that summon bounced off eeriely, It nonetheless wasn’t the dread of unearthing the truth. Quite the contrary, its accompanying numbness is all what I dread.

And yet, beyond human visions, once my far off essence pondered my sullen attributes out of my reflection’s angelic eyes, I was bewitched anew by that immortal bond in sync with such irresistible light energy circulating through my body.

Maybe this split defrauded me with bursting into the reaches of those who idolized labels the moment they diverted from the reflected truth. So I branded myself like a drizzle in which they are destined to drown and uncomplainingly let them restrict me in a container of labels.

Was your rationale created in the same mold of GODS'”, I interrogated, “Or else why are you lying in a trench of silence?”
“For a mere observer before the scenery of everyone drinking the shots of existence, in which they had tucked the poison of their curse, death simulation is the only purgatory”, he confessed as he faded away down the netherworld.

That divinely orchestrated encounter, however, chose to bestow me with the knack for transcending towards the waters of reflection, and no matter how willing they’re to distort the reflected truth, I’ll remain then parallel to the ground, aligned with nature.


Fatima Chahneh

Author Fatima Chahneh

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