Chants

The bowel of the earth deepens with Saturated blessings of the soil, and Down, down, the forces burrow in its Caverns —creviced Between day and night, I cannot decipher, Yet it is the mind of the night, the strength of the Arcane values, where the eyes, though Blind, see through the darkest chasm Syncopations thrive —the mind and the Soul of the hides, the metallic occupation, The throbs from animal faculty in desuetude, And hallowed cadences of chants. Darkness and light, I do not know But behold, in the strength of the day’s looming eyes, Cormorants, in elixir, hover at the mouth of vigilant cliffs Beneath the earth’s balcony, chattering loosely. Chants, chants of midnight-hour Africa, Feeble metaphor for the softness of leopard skin, Innocent voices parched like no globule of water Has streamed past their distressed throats in ages From the riots of drums underneath the exhausted earth, Skeletal frames of distinct horn-like sounds Surround the warm rage of ceremonies in volcanic appeal, Enough for us to grab and interpret The rubbles of the crust, smelt in the heat of Confused processions, charm my eyes The earth rumbles, mirages occur so pronto, focusing their Lens on the revelling clouds above. Chants on time and chants on the spine of the hour . . . . Seen through the heat-haze of the swelling day, Beheld in the webs of the night as in the stately Prowls of lurking, visiting silhouettes; Chants of gestures, of initiations, of primitive Religions, of the invocations of rain after a stifling drought, Chants of accelerated tempos from drums and flutes in salutations To the returning reincarnated souls. Let the restlessness of the spirits begin now —but with supreme bliss I could have borrowed steadfastness from the moon and the sun, For perpetual energy and unending flow of unseen waves of clarity. From the dark nights, I humbly request their star-studded witness.