🔥 “When the Hunger Turns Holy” — A Poem on Shamati 143
I walk through days where nothing fits,
The heart’s a cage the ego knits.
It whispers, “Take, devour, claim,”
’Til all my thoughts burst into flame.
The soul grows hungry in the dark,
It claws the ribs to leave a mark.
It begs for Light but tastes the mud,
’Cause every rise must cross the flood.
Shamati writes: the hunger’s real—
You starve until the heavens peel.
You’re left with nothing but your cry,
A broken vessel asking why.
But this is love, disguised as pain,
The lack, the longing, the inner strain.
He empties you so you can feel
How only He can make you real.
You fight the urge to numb the ache,
To run, to hide, to curse, to break.
But every wound that splits your chest
Is Him demanding you confess:
“I’m not the owner of this life,
I cannot win this inner strife.
Take all I hold, all I defend—
Just let me fall into my friends.”
And when the darkness steals your breath,
When hope feels like a quiet death,
You learn the truth inside the burn—
Only through lack the lights return.
He starves the will so love can grow,
He cracks the heart so you will know
That all the fullness you adore
Arrives when you can ask no more.
So bless the hollows carved in you,
The nights you drown, the days you rue.
For each assault that tears your core
Opens a gate to something more.
Shamati says the pain is wise—
A gift wrapped tight in your disguise.
You’re emptied out, but not alone—
Your Ten becomes your borrowed throne.
And when you break enough to bend,
Enough to need your closest friend,
Enough to beg the Light to come—
That’s when creation beats its drum.
You rise from hunger, stripped but whole,
With nothing left except the goal.
The Creator’s love—so fierce, so tough—
Whispers, “Now you’re finally enough.”
