First, we invented someone to come. Then remembered someone who had never been. And one morning, among the flowers, we gave the absence a face. We gave Godot a face, We gave the silence eyes. We dressed our oldest hunger In a beautiful disguise. We called the feeling sacred, We called the longing grace. And when no God descended, We gave Godot a face. No golden throne among the flowers, No voice beyond the morning rain. Just someone kneeling by another, Trying to ease another's pain. No promise of resurrection, No payment waiting in the sky. Just hands that held a trembling stranger, With nothing promised in reply. ܚܘܒܐ ܗܘ ܕܠܐ ܐܡܪ ܕܝܠܝ ܐܢܬ ܐܠܐ ܐܡܪ ܕܝܠܟ ܐܢܐ The brain said: attachment. The blood said: survive. The heart invented poetry To make the flesh feel wise. I know the gears are turning. I know what bodies do. But knowing how the feeling works Cannot stop it happening. We gave Godot a face, We gave the silence eyes. We dressed our oldest hunger In a beautiful disguise. We called the feeling sacred, We called the longing grace. And when no God descended, We gave Godot a face. The child inside the photograph Still waits for someone to arrive. The old man in tomorrow's room Knows the child won't survive. Memory rearranges faces, Hope rehearses days to come. We live between two inventions, And call the interval a home. A hand reaches through the rain. No choir. No heavenly flame. Perhaps it's only evolution. Perhaps it doesn't need a name. ܗܢܘ ܚܘܒܐ ܚܘܒܐ ܐܝܟ ܗܢܐ ܕܠܐ ܒܥܐ ܦܘܢܝܐ No angel came. A brain invented God. A brain invented meaning. A brain invented love. I know the machinery. But knowing is another gear. The eye that sees the illusion belongs to the illusion-maker. And the hand that held a dying stranger? Made of matter too. No proof of heaven. No proof of anything beyond. But someone stayed. I can explain the hand. I cannot explain away the fact that it was there. I walked beneath the morning flowers, Looking for the Face of God. No crown appeared, no revelation, Only footprints in the mud. One small kindness without witness, One brief gesture, quickly gone. The world continued without noticing. The blood continued moving on. WE GAVE GODOT A FACE! WE GAVE THE SILENCE EYES! WE BUILT AN ENTIRE HEAVEN TO EXPLAIN OUR FEAR OF GOODBYE! NO THRONE! NO CROWN! NO VOICE DESCENDING FROM ABOVE! JUST ONE MORE MORTAL CREATURE TRYING TO EXPLAIN ITS LOVE! WE INVENTED GODOT! WE REMEMBERED HIM! WE GAVE HIM A FACE! No one came. Someone stayed. I know the difference. I don't know what it means. There... I've done it again. Meaning. Always meaning. Even this confession is the animal inventing one more story. ܕܝܠܟ ܐܢܐ I am yours.
