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we're all hallelujah crying

an angry stream of consciousness poem

By Mesh ToraskarPublished 9 months ago Updated 9 months ago 1 min read
stream of consciousness by Ryan Hatton

Only a handful of things journey unimpeded across borders. 

Economic agreements, contagions, exclusive passports, money, memories. 

Individuals - in trucks, aboard trains that go underwater, walking, queuing, wading waist-high in rivers, on rudders of a ship or casually complaining through customs. 

Brothers separated at birth. 

Orders to terminate, to annihilate, faith, language, satellite transmissions, but above all, longing. The longing for tranquillity and for tempests.


Making my bed in the morning on still-stolen land, scrolling through the rubble of humanity’s misguided pursuit of holiness I arrive at love, through obliteration. 

Light pouring in through the window, depositing infinity on my kitchen table, I suddenly cannot wipe away. 

Just like that. 

It’s August. 

Just like that.

No such avocado as an ethical avocado.

The newest sequel of the present premiering in my living room, but my mind drifts to that timeline where the meteor didn’t veer off course. Where we are not left in the realm governed by pebble-brained and yacht-hearted.

War - the ubiquitous surname etched on countless unmarked tombstones. Etched by pebble-brained and yacht-hearted.


Freedom is both a particle and a wave. Freedom is both dead and alive.

The moment I start wanting it, it changes form and leaps from my belief. But do you have to believe in something for it to jolt you from slumber? 

Living in a tin box that rattles with plastic and wrongs. 

Encircling me, a cage no larger than god’s thumbprint. The cage widens (when my mother calls, when I write a poem, when trees laugh) and the bars get obscured by distance. 

They still remain, but often, not seeing the bars is good enough. 

My mother calls every day but it’s already too late for things to get better. 

I am always the first to cry. 

In the midst of it all, you see, well - amidst it all, my family keeps dying of and at distance. 

I am always the last to cry.


We’re all hallelujah crying, benadryl dryness lingering in our throat, talking to no one, so no one talks back. 

Every night takes us into rebirth and fails. 

We’re all hallelujah crying, heat-drenched and heat-sickened, praying to no one, so no one prays back. 

We all saw the end arriving, and like fools - like utter fools, we chose to stay, still.

social commentarysurreal poetrysad poetry

About the Creator

Mesh Toraskar

A wannabe storyteller from London. Sometimes words spill out of me and the only way to mop the spillage is to write them down.

"If you arrive here, remember, it wasn't you - it was me, in my longing, who found you."

Reader insights


Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!

Top insights

  1. Compelling and original writing

    Creative use of language & vocab

  2. Excellent storytelling

    Original narrative & well developed characters

  3. Heartfelt and relatable

    The story invoked strong personal emotions

  1. Masterful proofreading

    Zero grammar & spelling mistakes

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Comments (6)

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  • Andrei Z.8 months ago

    One powerful piece! I can feel you! Though usually, I try to keep this channel cut off. It does no good but makes you feel terrible. Also, very well written!

  • Mackenzie Davis9 months ago

    Do more of these. My heart weeps for you, my friend. I feel such pain, such desire, such disgust in these words. "The longing for tranquillity and for tempests." Wow. "scrolling through the rubble of humanity’s misguided pursuit of holiness I arrive at love, through obliteration." You command the truth here. I cannot argue against it. Indeed, I have felt this way often. I don't believe there is much to be admired in how the West has chosen to love. Do we even comprehend what it is, what it means, what it requires? "Etched by pebble-brained and yacht-hearted." YES. How I wish to hold them away from all that I love, to remove their reach, their touch, their damage. But it is a fruitless battle I crave, one that will only continue as it wishes, and not as we do. "They still remain, but often, not seeing the bars is good enough." This is a line that demands a hug of comfort. I hope you can get one. Staying still, always crying. The unending, answering silence. This is much of what I have felt too, and I ache for its persistence in your own being. I hope you get to return to your family soon, Mesh. I can see the cracks widening in that distance. 💔 As always, a stunning creation. Those last two stanzas are jaw-dropping. I am feeling so much from this, and I hope it was a relief of some of the burden you carry. Much love.❤️❤️❤️

  • "It's a cold & it's a broken hallelujah." - Leonard Cohen "Pebble-minded, yacht-brained" I resonate with this image, recognizing it both too often in myself & too often in others.

  • Cathy holmes9 months ago

    Wow. This is incredible. Well done.

  • 🥹📝👍❤️

  • Judey Kalchik 9 months ago

    "I am always the first to cry..... I am always the last to cry" and in between "In the midst of it all, you see, well - amidst it all, my family keeps dying of and at distance." This is family. This is frustration and longing and fear and desire. So very powerful.

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