Eulogy of a Dead Dove.

         Nonchalant became sorrow personified. My father’s eyes bore its presence. Screams churned into instructions. “Get out of this house! And take those little brats with you.” My mother bellowed. “I never want to see your faces again! Demons!”

My sister couldn’t contain herself any longer. She broke out of my grip and run towards our mother. Before she could even touch her, “Don’t you dare hold me with your satanic hands.” were the words that greeted her.  My mother had disgust oozing out her every crevice towards my sister at that point. My sister just stood there, frozen. Blank – as if lost in a trance; certainly hypnotized by those words.  All that motioned were the tears that flowed with such force yet serenity from her eyes. It made my father sob.

In one swift motion, my father moved towards my sister and picked her up from the ground into his car. I followed suit and off we drove, never to see my mother again. That was how religion broke into my house and used its teething agent, Pastor Clement, to make me motherless and rip my family apart. A demon I became, with my father and sister my accomplices. Just because my mother’s horrid dreams were interpreted on “hallowed grounds” for selfish gains. Oh the beauty of religion!

Alas you sit here today, after all these years, asking me to call you mother again? Because hell froze over and me with it? I have no mother! My father – died from sorrow five years ago. My sister, mental from a long love lost. The audacity of thought you have before me, using the name of that same “hallowed ground” to seek forgiveness from me, “a demon”.

Hell does know this fury that burns in my heart “mother”. And its scorn towards you a thousand angels cannot lift. You will learn to live with your actions forever, and your dead husband shall haunt your conscience till thy kingdom come. That is what you get, when you allow religion as interpreted by a mere man to dictate how you should live your life. So much so you ignore your husband’s pleas for his children to be loved again – even on his death bed.

Did not your own good book say “God is love, and love is God”? Why then is your kind quick to hate and condemn with open arms, without taking time to see reason? They would rather spit on a fellow and push that fellow deep into the darkness than use love and compassion to bring people to the light they claim to know so well.

Alas, here we are! You, in the shoes of the demon. And me, the high and mighty with all power in the world granted to me by your light. “Forgive and Forget” they say. Tsk! Now you know how it feels to be condemned when all you seek is love.

Dear mother, this dead Dove you speak to knows not love… hence knows not God! Therefore … Goodbye forever woman.