crisis of faith
He twists a knife in my back retracts & mends and calls it mercy He made a crooked design, warped, nefarious, criminal, if we could hold Him to account and we are to marvel at the glory in its sidelines while its failures, far worse than all of our own, combined, coincide with our blindspots. I have cried at His altar and watched infants be burned alive, honorary saints be starved, and wondered how He could construct something so cruel, so vile, and fool fools into distraction Why would a Father who is any less than psychopathic build a home where his children are dismembered, sold in trade? Why would a Father who is any less than spiteful of children's being, hateful of their wonder and distasted by their overflowing anguish give birth only to cause regret of it? They twist a knife in my back i question, i sin i say, so does He, so does He.
Srishti Uppal is an eighteen-year-old poet and essayist from New Delhi, India. She is Editor-in-Chief of Teen Belle Magazine, blog correspondent for The Brown Orient Literary Journal, mixed genre editor for (inter)change, editorial assistant for Homology Lit, and poetry reader for Marias at Sampaguitas. Her work may be found in the Royal Rose and Crepe and Penn, among others. You can follow her on Twitter @UppalSrishti or Instagram @Srishtiuppal_
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