I stand in a corner of an art gallery,
and with the corner of my little eye,
I spy,
the works of other artists’ fly.
I look at them,
with little inspiration, and more aspiration.
Aspiration to be featured like them in an artsy place.
To have people look at my name and take picture of it.
I then look at their ages,
with little care, and more despair.
Despair filled with remorse and insecurity.
I then look at myself in their works,
with less clarity, and more uncertainty.
Uncertainty of what lies ahead.
Their poems make up my half bald head.
Their pictures, my features.
Their photos, my toes.
Their paintings, my things.
And I soon realize, I am a has-been,
without having had it in the first place.
I then turn away,
with little sadness, but more guilt.
The guilt of putting myself ahead of them.
For encroaching their space,
and putting my defeat over their success.
my procrastinated dreams over their disciplined actions.
I step out.
I walk away,
ashamed and embarrassed.
Not less, not little, but more.
I sit down.
I pray.
for Qalb-e-Saleem,
for a purified and enlightened heart,
completely devoid of evil and any negative emotion,
free of any and all diseases.
I pray for a cleansed heart.
For that is the ultimate success,
And everything else is just,
everything else.
Art galleries get remodeled.
Pictures get taken, and taken down.
Words get written, and forgotten.
Paintings get painted, and washed away.
Poems rhyme, but sometimes don’t.
Temporal nature of the world becomes clear.
Failures does bring you closer to faith.
Crisis averted.
-Faith Crisis, 7th January 2022
