I shudder
in this great sleep
to awaken--
to understand,
to see,
to know.
Why the mind?
Grasping a bit here,
a bit there--
the pieces
never, never
to come together.
Why do we long,
And what is it
we long for:
the light of God--
all we need,
all we want--
to bask in it,
the one true
luxury.
Yet darkness clings
to us even in the
brightest daylight.
This world is so heavy upon us,
we scarcely can know of the Other
as it impinges on this world
of flesh and bone, air and water,
sky and mountain, man and woman....
Our bodies are too fine--
instruments of unending sensation
from birth to death,
our brains so vast in imagination...
yet so small in comprehension.
We live in fear and longing:
we sin...repent...sin again.
We pass by our neighbors
with barely a glance,
while we turn on our beloved
with blindness, with deafness--
little wonder why we despair.
The great wonder is--
why we are loved...
each of us so difficult,
so repulsive at times...
yet with just a slight
turn of the magnet
and we are bound
together once again.
The most magnificent wonder
of all is why He loves us--
blind little bugs scurrying
about in the dark, sentient
of the mud but insensate
of the glory until we are
transformed by the Light
and can see Heaven cupped
in our hands and feel, at
last, the Eternal beating
deep within our hearts.
Can a denier believe?
Can a man of God doubt?
Can a prisoner leave?
Can a king go without?
Can children die?
Can stars ordain?
Can songbirds cry?
Can deserts rain?
Can killers heal?
Can healers kill?
Can the sun melt?
Can it be felt?
Can the soul see?
Can my soul hear?
Can God be?
Can time disappear?
[posted 12/2012]
In the ruins of yesteryears
a cave of harrowed woods
and it saves;
These tears dry and I bear;
The wind comes today
Gushing past the wild mountains
Have I not hold my heart
For why they rush to pierce?
This lust of the dusky sky
With the words I wept through
You have heard all;
Yet you rest in tranquil lie
Forever more
And pieces of my heart
Entwines again
And the trees blooms yet again in
purple hue’
Why my endless pain
abhors the wind;
dusty and severe marching again?
why the purple trees shakes
and shivers;
sweeping the streets in fallen wind
Have these sufferings not ended;
For it; has my heart survived
Sixteen years in monsoon wind’
Letters that remains clutched
In my sleeves;
For why this fairy never see
I have written all
Begging- for just mercy
Yet the wind ever halts;
The rain appeal once again
in dusky sky;
and the thunder shakes these trees
Once bloomed in wild passion’