|
| |
Send a Paper Plane to the Gods
In two weeks,
the Loy Krathong
will begin.
12th in the
Lunar calendar,
atone for a sin.
Floating specks,
like us
but in the sky.
The stars
or the lanterns;
fault of the eye.
To beg for
forgiveness
to an imaginary friend.
Hence the offerings
galore
faithful until the end.
No one has seen
Or known our humanely ruin;
but we have fantasized.
We still have mosaics,
delusions, excuses,
never considering if they were lies.
There is no such thing
as truth or deceit
in matters like this.
Strip away the skin and
flesh and bones
a soul trapped in a fist.
It beats,
the fist a prison,
and pleads to escape.
It tries until
it gives up one day,
then it is too late.
So take a fragment
of your essence
hold it in the tips
of your fingers.
Watch! Its
pure joy
converts into light
and its warmth lingers.
Once you release it, the light, your
spirit,
floats in a ship of parchment;
you’re too late, you believe.
But then a glow
slits into your eyes;
you made it part of the sky,
your soul is free.
Copyright ©
Nagham Al-Qahtani
|
|