Warfare of the Brain

I remember those times when I was five,

Living in a small apartment.

After dinner, I would go out onto the grass

And gaze up at the sky.

“Dad, what are they?”

“Those are stars.”

Millions of stars looked back at me,

Each one shining white-hot

In a sea of inky black or navy.

The moon; round, full, and white;

Would stare at me from behind,

Watching over my being.

That little kid would stare in wonder

At the heavenly scenery above her.

She dreamed about the vast universe.

She dreamed about the future spread-out before her.

She dreamed without a care in the world.

But as she grew older, she stopped looking at the sky.

When she wanted to look at them again

When she was thirteen,

They were no longer there.

Those hot, twinkling balls of fire

Did not come out to greet her.

Only the moon stayed,

The moon that always protected her,

But even the yellowing moon had shrunk

And grown distant and small.

It was a time when the blackness of the sky

Covered her life in a blanket of darkness.

How could she be happy?

How could she keep that innocence she once had?

How could she have hope?

She looked up again at seventeen

And that spark of hope she was looking for

Finally reignited.

A few stars said hello to her again.

The moon was a bit more closer to her.

“Dad, look at the stars!”

“Those aren’t stars, they’re satellites.”

She looked back on her life:

What she had gone through,

Words she had uttered

Actions she had committed,

They weren’t the mannerisms of a five year old.

They were no longer the mannerisms

Of someone who was innocent, pure, and happy.

They were the mannerisms of a sinful person:

Someone who was forced to quickly grow up,

Someone who was forbidden to dream,

Someone who was enslaved to a life of work

Someone who let anger and sadness overcome her.

“Yes, I had to put up different fronts for years.

But does it now make me a fake person?

Does it now make me an unfeeling person?

Does it now make me a person that has strayed off the path

And can no longer find it?

What have I done to myself?

What should I do?

If the stars are satellites,

Which is real and which is fake?

And what if all of them are fake?

What happens then?

What happens to my hope and happiness then?”

This world that I’ve lived in

Has shown me so much fakeness

But just as much happiness.

What is the lie?

What is the truth?

Do I know?

Do you know?

I hate that when I look up at the sky now

I have to be reminded of this fact.

I hate that when I look up

The sky is no longer inviting and kind,

It gives me coldness and emptiness.

But when I look up,

I know a few stars and the moon will still be there.

I know they will guide me,

I know they will help me hope,

I know they will be waiting,

So that when I look up

I know that I am not alone

Like I had been.