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If the disability is to finds its way in life, it will enter in smooth. You need not work to welcome it. It's as if was always with you. Why imperfect me? Why imperfect you? When perfection was with God, why we were made to stand still in the flowing waters of rejoice. I am unheard as a sound, witnessed as unseen by the skies, still paving my way towards more imperfection, at times I too aim to match my standards to perfection. It doesn't work that way - my mother would say. But then it will work someday - my heart says.
Hurt or hit you can still get up and stand. But how long you will stand will be yet to be decided by Gods. If you don't dare to fall, you will be made to crawl still. The world cages the free and sets to fire what is unwitnessed. You are logic protruding out, searching your place in hot spot. When you don't belong to the world forever why do you attach yourself to it? The religion would ask your intentions at your best, to recover, to revive the earth and its beings. Why? After all, why? Why do you aim for earth when there is a place called heavens?
You are brutal to your own logic when you agree with religion. It hurts more than it stinks. Agreement with religion, paralysis your thinking. Still occupied by self. Search for God. What about me? You do not exist. Is it that I do not exist or is it that no one else but your God in your religion should only exist?
Hit and hurt. Hard on earth. A smile cannot find a roof. The roofs are rich in colours. There is a forbidden truth about the poor on land. They suffer be they then be in any land. For money they work. They don't work for work alone.
I am surviving despite flaws of the outside world. I am strong internally. But the outside is yet to reveal its whole power. When the future becomes present. Where will I go? Will I be able to flow? Fresh waters move out, they again smile at my eyes, and say maybe freedom is this…