Redemption, Retribution, and Second Chances,
- Nuna Ma’Khai
- Jun 3
- 4 min read
A spoken word poem.
What if redemption, retribution, and liberation wore different faces? What if what we’ve been calling retribution is sometimes just an unhealed hunger dressed in righteousness and revenge wearing a suit, carrying a script, demanding applause like it’s proof we mattered? What if redemption isn’t cold like the edges of a King’s sword, but the heat of a Knight’s torch? A furnace hidden beneath layers of ice we swore would never melt. What if liberation doesn’t always arrive as freedom first, but as deeply resonant truth—the kind that burns, the kind that cracks the concrete ice open, the kind that asks you to stop confusing numbness for peace and needles anger as a path to liberation?
What if second chances aren’t rewards for the untainted and pure, but rites for the willing? Relief for the ones who are still trying, still facing themselves, still rewriting wrongdoings even when the past keeps baring its teeth at their pulse points? What if the ice road we take isn’t proof we’re evil or unworthy… but proof we are sometimes frozen in the moments we trade our truth for silence because silence means safety? And what if forgiveness isn’t weakness or amnesia, but the middle way—self-compassion as the spark that warms the lake back to life?
The tarot reading above was the gateway that welcomed this writing piece. I find it fascinating that the universe expresses itself through my divination practice and solidifies itself through my writing pieces. The poem below was just one poem that stemmed from this reading. I plan on allowing room for more to come through. I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed being the medium that channeled this piece.
We often think that revenge when served cold is retribution
We ice bathe memories pregnant with guilt and shame
in freezing lakes like love looks for leverage
in the petrifying stillness of faces frozen
beneath the surface of moments
held over by a blazing blizzard’s touch
We often think that do overs are for those willing
to trade the heads and necks of enemies who were once
lovers, friends, kin-folk, and Mommas
Those who traded our need for closeness for a moment
of applause and release cause
they were high off hits of spite and vindictiveness
They soaked in the suffering of their own winter past
We believe that throwing shards of iced glass in eyes
and stabbing another’s lungs with ice sickles half broken
by knees that once kissed floors, submitting at the toes
of those once honored is more filling
More filling than tongue kissing accountability
til’ it orgasms and sings tunes of naked truths
We sometimes choose the cold road because
despite the burning, we’re frozen in the moments
we traded our truth for silence
because silence meant safety
We confused peace with swallowing boundaries believing
that gambling for respect guaranteed
that we’d be honored and adorned in the same garments
we offered others in their nakedness
We sometimes awaken in caves thick with coldness
as regret echoes through our throats while cave crystals shiver
We gather mistakes and knit them into blankets
desperate for warmth to gift us second chances
believing that second chances are off limits from the guilty
The guilty who were misguided, still trying,
fighting, facing, rewriting wrongdoings
because the past refuses to leave
warm blood untouched
The past needs feeding
so, it hooks its fangs
gum deep into our pulse points
I know what it’s like to beg God for salvation
To hear him growl in his throat foolishly cloaking
his rage in humor
as if he only answers petitions from men on Sundays
after they’ve raped and taken in his honor
Showing up to church wearing glory robes the morning after
I know what it’s like to fiend for the heat of redemption
like crackheads and homeless men on a hunt for refuge and quick fixes
I know what it’s like to take backseat as the ego possesses the mind
To lose yourself in the lust of bitterness
To gift punishment as lollipops to those deserving
of the rage of fallen sages who suppressed the suffering
Whose stomachs were pumped with dying fireflies
laced and drugged with failures and empty futures
To fall out of alignment because guidance took the shape
of abuse, bad words, bewilderment, and beatings
I know what it’s like to wish that the universe
would pull another life out of its womb for me
To wish I held her and said, I love you, I see you
instead of, I didn’t ask you to birth me!
To have possessed the power to breathe life
back into the pulseless body of my former lover
Instead of pushing my now lover into a freezing lake
scared and angry because I lacked inner-standing
To choose chaos over self-control and patience
To warm fires to shield myself from the ice of others
How many mistakes does it take to realize
that there is positive and negative retribution?
That positive retribution looks like choosing the path forward
That the path forward leads to liberation
That liberation is the effect of choosing truth over illusion
Over the illusion that life is too small for redemption
That redemption is a burning furnace deep in layers
of frozen ice waiting for resurrection
That redemption is choosing wisdom moving forward
That moving forward cracks concrete ice open
with ice skates mouthing fired feet
That openness is the middle way
That the middle way is forgiveness
That forgiveness is self-compassion
That self-compassion is the spark that heats frozen lakes
bringing them back to life
That forgiveness is a choice
That self-forgiveness is recalibration
That recalibration is soul restoration
I’ve learned cold lessons from Saturn
about retribution, redemption and second chances
Embody your truth
because the greatest redemption…
is you
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