[ARTICLE] CALL ME NOT NAOMI – CALL ME MARA (A CRY FOR PLATEAU) By JohnWilliams Xploitz

Call me not Naomi, call me Mara!

 

Why call me Naomi when my heart weighs me down; as though a milestone has being tied around it and cast into the sea?

The sky seems to have, in exasperation, fallen on me.

My world has become so tight that I can hardly inhale a handful of oxygen.

Even my own life has become a mysterious puzzle I no longer can comprehend.

 

Days are becoming so short and nights, excessively lengthened.

My being quivers at the blast of loudmouthed thunder preceding no flash of lighten.

The sun scourges at noon and at night, the moon looks on me with a terrifying aggression

 

The bed I once laid on and got comfort has now become a den of nightmares and eerie feelings.

Each property I own in my apartment poses as a terrific monster aimed at chasing me out of my comfort zone into the street.

 

Call me not Naomi, call me Mara!

 

Why call ma Nomi when the bread I once ate and enjoyed, now seem like a molten magma in my mouth?

The things that once made my heart race with joy now pins me ferociously against the wall leaving me shagged out.

My stop clock runs ahead of me with the speed of light, casting me far into the past.

 

The gift I earnestly yearned for and now have has turned around to wage a fierce battle against me.

I wake up each morning in grieve and I lay me down soaked in the tears of my dilemma.

I am in an air-conditioned room; yet I perspire profusely as though I have been thrust into the depth of a volcano.

 

My allies smile at me at the end of each day and say to me innocently, “Goodnight dear.”

Nevertheless, back in my cubicle, the “night” stands aloof as “good” is gruesomely snatched away from it.

 

Call me not Naomi, call me Mara!

 

For I have successfully built around me a wall of happy people, yet sorrow break my fence and I am left defenseless.

I look at my so-called achievements, but they seem long outdated.

 

In a bid to be motivated, I croon, read and learn but I still end up drowning in the ocean of anguish.

Then with the want of liberation, I kneel to pray; but words, with a damning look, hands me a divorce note.

Therefore, from a heart already torn apart, I mutter meaningless words with the hope that someone somewhere would understand my scribbled words.

 

When I am outside, I charmingly portray the happy me.

But deep within, I weep so loud that my screech could burst open a standard woofer,

Hoping that my screams could be heard, even as a silent whisper…

Hoping that anyone would comprehend and come to my rescue in haste…

 

Call me not Naomi, call me Mara!

 

The world seems like a colossal amphitheater; and I am but alone.

Therefore, with no one to pour my heart on, I am standing aimlessly, gazing at the man in the mirror who in turn, gazes at me with a thirst for a ray of hope.

 

I have compiled a list of questions seeking answers; but I am stuck in a delusion of persecuting confusion;

Therefore, in mastery have I so masked my misery, so that I have being awarded the happiest man on earth?

Yet, I live in guilt because all they who tendered this award only see the beautiful shadow of an ugly image.

 

Again, with knee caps touching the earth in humility,

I pled with the Creator to fix that, which He created years ago,

I begged Him continuously to speak to me in a voice and language I could comprehend;

But He has decided, in His wisdom, to keep mute; leaving me amused!

 

Call me not Naomi, call me Mara!

Until Ruth ties the knot with Boaz;

Until the Israelites leave Egypt unhurt with its treasures;

Until the walls of Jericho comes crumbling at Joshua’s feet;

Until water gushes out of the rock and wets the wilderness;

Until Samson’s hairs grow again and his strength is regained;

Until the glory of the temple in Jerusalem is restored;

Until my tap water is turned into the best of wines;

Until Hamman is hanged and Modecai is exalted;

Until Daniel is enthroned in the land of slavery

 

Call me not Naomi until my tears are wiped away.

Call me Mara until my silent prayers are heard and answered.

Call me not Naomi until my tears of anguished is replaced with tears of ecstasy.

Call me Mara until they who mock me turn around to celebrate me.

Call me not Naomi until the sun looks on me with love.

Call me Mara until He who bears the name Naomi is really happy!

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JohnWilliams Xploitz