Humans, one might call you; Nature, might someone else. To me all of you were living creatures I made out of love and star dust. Who am I, you ask? You have a lot of names for me. God, Bhagwan, Allah, and then several subdivisions to that as well. I actually am none of those, truly. I’m just the being who created you fellows out of love and out of the power I held over.
God is One, they said.
The Creator, they said.
Now you have made the world I made, yours. You rule over it, and I feel like that the strings of my own creation is slipping out of my hands.
Humans, you were supposed to be my greatest creation. I was appreciated by the nature, by water and the wind, and by the stars and the whole Universe when I created you.
Now they sometimes glee over your existence, sometimes mourn. With hate out ruling the feeling of love with which I created you, the world is falling down on my own feet and here I am looking at it helplessly because I gave it’s power to you.
Blood, hate, breaking relationships, guns, wars, and misleading uses of science; oh, how I wish I had poured more love for peace in your hearts and lesser of poison.
I am here, dear fellows. And I love my children, all my creations that you are. But love only those who deserve. I am here, without a shape or a being, just a living soul, feeling as human as you are with just the power of creation and destruction.
There in your world you have created various versions of myself, over which you fight over.
I am the creator of regions,
Never had I created religions,
I was the creator of fate,
You – the creator of hate,
Now, here to spread love,
Searching one peace dove.
Here the creator is wounded by his own creations. But remember, compassionate I might be, when the day comes I would become the destructor of nature and my own creations. Ruthless to the core, looking only at gore. Because every start has an end written alongside.
| Open Letter To Creations, From The Creator | ✒