crumbling faith / matthew by Aadit Pahuja (15, India)*

i. 
stark white marble walls 
stare back at me blankly 
the paint’s peeling off 
and is crumbling down 
(it settles in the corners). 
the air smells of faith. 
beads of sweat line my forehead 
(i wipe them away with the back of my hand) 
and happy tears line  
my mother’s dark eyelashes. 
(she doesn’t wipe them away) ​

---

a group of lonely kids (choir, matthew, kaw-yer) 
stumble on the stage and clear their throats 
my mother clutches the silver cross 
hanging around her neck with 
her sweaty, chubby fingers 
and stands up (in respect, matthew, in respect) 
and i follow- 
(i don’t have a cross, so i dig my nails in my sweaty palms instead) the children sing in their singing voices 
and i mumble the gospel truth with them. 
i see sideways and there he is 
his tall, gorgeous body well-oiled, 
bathed in ambrosia 
jesus 
and he smiles at me 
a gentle smile; i smile back. 
and then he vanishes. 
the truth ends (amen, amen)  and i loosen the tie 
around my neck. 
i turn to walk out and 
mother says- 
‘there’s God in the air, matthew’ 
and so i inhale Him 
(deep breaths, deep breaths, inhale the truth) 
like cigarette smoke. 
there’s God in the air. 

ii. 
everything’s a  
happy blur- (not really) 
pieces of colourful paper  
dissolve under my tongue and melt into my saliva 
like gold.
i’m falling 
and i can’t even feel it- (maybe i can, i’m not sure) 
i prick myself with disposable syringes 
and ancient humiliations. 
there’s something at the back of my head, 
it’s plunging me into the dark (no no no i don’t want to go) 
and there’s a tiny stage 
with tiny kids (choir, matthew, kaw-yer) 
but 
swoosh 
i’m back, 
i see spots spots spots (redgreenblue) 
like the polka dots on  
my mother’s blue dress i loved 
no no no i don’t wanna go back (i go anyway) 
swoosh 
and i see grass 
plush (it is spring in the meadow) 
and there’s my mother in her blue polka dots dress (the one i loved) sitting on a picnic mat with packets of bread and- 
(matthew, here’s your sandwich) 
and i’m running running running 
to her and then the taste of tomatoes explodes in my mouth 
and 
swoosh 
i’m back 
but the tomatoes didn’t 
they stayed with my beautiful mother 
in the spring-hit meadow 
and left me the taste of redblack blood. 
(or was it tomatoes? i’m not sure) 
i feel tears trickle down my cheek 
trickle trickle trickle 
i close my eyes and pray (what else can i do?) 
the truth ends (amen, amen)  and i inhale 
(there’s God in the air, matthew) 
Him like cigarette smoke but all i smell is  
sickly liquids in plastic bottles- 
(is there God in the air, mother? if He is, why doesn’t he help me mother?) i see sideways and there he is 
he sees me with drooping eyelids 
dark holes beneath his eyes,  
and rotting skin 
jesus-shaped monstrosity  
smoking joints with me 
he looks at me 
with a resigned glumness; i glumly look back. 
and then he vanishes. 
and then i’m standing up (or am i? i’m not sure; i’m trying atleast)
but i c a n ′ t. 
and i fall back. 
there might be God in the air. 

iii. 
ice cold ice cold water hits my neck 
and the hair on my neck stands up (in respect, matthew, in respect) and i’m drowning drowning drowning 
in my own head and 
i hold the bathroom door for support 
(but i’ve already fallen). 
and my head is  
spinning spinning spinning 
i look at the holes on my arm 
(where injections have punctured me) 
and there’s a memory in my stomach 
and i puke it out along with the vomit. 
the lights flicker (or do they?) 
and i fall down face-up face-up 
and something bursts in my head. 
i feel warm blood  
creeping down my neck 
but i can’t do anything about it 
(or can i? no you most certainly can not, matthew)  ice cold ice cold water mixes with 
warm sicksweet blood 
and i see myself die
from above. 
i see sideways and there he is 
in all his trivial glory 
matthew. 
i smile at him a sad smile. 
he smiles a sad smile back. gently. intimately. 
there is no God in the air. 
only my crumbling faith.

​