The temple resembled a market place. They bought and sold.
By the rich even the Sanctum Sanctorum was controlled.
Communion of the humans with the divine seemed delinked.
From the lost tongues of hypocrites, like sounds of cracked gongs, clinked
Bonfires of sanctity from the hearth of your heart erupt
Possessed by the love of your father's abode, you were crushed.
Wrath, in the form of a whip, spun in your unconsciousness.
Each vendor of dignity soon regained their consciousness.
Could the priests and elders whose pride was demolished bear this?
Their mouths were shut. Within their hearts, there were many conflicts.
Why do you do this? What sign would you show? These were queries.
You knew your physique would berazed. You had, yet, no worries.
Pray in the house of God, Merchandise has its market place.
From the fullness of Abba, you knew, flew fullness of grace.
AQUAMARINE waves kiss the shore as gulls fly overhead.
CRIMSON Geraniums hang in baskets on the porch.
We've planted LAVENDER outside the garden gate for luck,
and lined the driveway with LILAC bushes.
There is a LEMON tree and a TANGERINE tree in the back yard.
They offer shade and luscious fruit.
I don my best CHARTREUSE muumuu and a CORAL necklace and bracelet,
with a SAFFRON colored ribbon in my hair to welcome my guests.
We will sit in the garden and sip WATERMELON wine,
as we discuss my new home and what to do with it.
This will be where I will come to enjoy nature and find peace.
It will be the place where I will come to retire in this quaint little village.
It will be my sanctum sanctorum.
My little house by the sea.
April 14,2021
I awaken to beautiful music as birds sing sweetly outside my window.
I rise and dress unhurriedly.
I go into the kitchen to prepare my morning tea,
The first of many for it sits easily on my stomach,
and energizes me for the day ahead.
Sweet
Cup in hand I emerge into the garden.
It is early morning and the dew is heavy on the grass and shrubs.
The air is perfumed with the fragrance of flowers.
Bees hum busily among them as the birds continue to serenade me.
I am soothed as my senses awaken to the sights and sounds about me.
Sweet
My garden, my Sanctum Sanctorum where I commune with my God.
I praise Him for His goodness, His mercy and His tender care.
I thank Him for His providence and put before Him my petitions;
And as I pray my spirit surges with new hope and reassurance.
I feel stronger, more confident and reborn.
Sweet
I know that whatever this day may bring,
There is nothing I cannot face
Nothing I cannot conquer,
As long as I remain standing beside my God.
Sweet
Having conquered death
Soul's eternal home prepared
Sanctum Sanctorum!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
21 April 2019
* HAPPY EASTER TO ALL CHRISTIANS WHO CELEBRATE EASTER TODAY!
I pray to HIM, the destroyer
Destroying is his purpose singular
He reveals the duplicity of a sleeper
Not in him, the forceful energy of a waker
Yes, I prayed deeply to the destroyer
After I saw the works of the creator
The creator is everywhere and is all-knower
A life-giver but could not make ME a winner.
Destroyer loved but was not a lover
Barely a parent yet a strict father
He bore his stick, He alone could bear life as a householder
The world is a multi-faceted creation
Plurality, infinity, continuity and no end
Nature turned wild and prone to destruction
We created zero and the nuclear weapon
Creation was contained in finite numbers
When numbers don't work go to the network
Family, society, nature all inter-locked
That's when my very personal God set to work
He said to me then
Clear the cobwebs and your cupboard
Turn off the fire in the sanctum sanctorum
Leave me not and look no further
Don't try to put the broken pieces of your life together
Come to my distant sanctuary
Its cold openness beyond the reach of the creator!
Imagine
you can see
what your ears hear
and they see
what your eyes watch
as you dwell
in the
Sanctum Sanctorum
of prayer
while communing
with The Most High
whose returned gifts
are beyond
all other words
except:
“Halleluiah…Amazing Grace!”
I awake to beautiful music,
As birds sing sweetly outside my window.
I rise and dress unhurriedly,
And go into the kitchen to prepare my morning tea,
The first of many for it sits easily on my stomach,
And energizes me for the day ahead.
Sweet
Cup in hand I emerge into the garden.
It is early morning and the dew is heavy on the grass and shrubs.
The air is perfumed with the fragrance of flowers.
Bess hum busily among them as the birds continue to serenade me.
I am soothed as my senses awaken,
To the sights and sounds about me.
Sweet
My garden, my sanctum sanctorum,
Where I commune with my God.
I praise Him for His goodness, His mercy and His tender care.
I thank Him for His providence,
And as I pray my spirit surges with new hope and reassurance.
Sweet
I rise and return to the kitchen and place my cup in the sink.
I am soothed, energized, reassured.
I feel stronger, more confident, reborn.
I know that whatever this day may bring,
There is nothing I cannot face,
Nothing I cannot conquer,
As long as I remain standing beside my God.
Sweet
You might think that I am quite a handful
Failing your expectations at the most
Yet, being there at times which most cruel
Every step of the way, whatever it costs
Nothing to compare, that motherly love
Those scoldings and reminders, straightforward
All for the benefit, stand up on top
And keep on doing so, never gets tired
Having you, a blessing not in disguise
For extending beyond reach, your presence
Unconditional, without any price
My sanctum sanctorum, my eminence
No substitute for a mother like you,
the one treasure at its highest value.
She lays there stark naked
writhing and moaning on the hot sand
like a sensuous woman in heat,
Her golden tresses weave through the desert
as far north as the eyes can see,
waving like sheik's silken tent in the wind.
A little down south
hidden behind a billowing dune
lies an oasis for the blessed,
like a shrine set in the sanctum sanctorum--
cool, moist and well-lined with palm trees
with a musky fragrance permeating the air,
And a wellspring of fresh, bubbly water
to quench the thirst of weary wayfarers.
~Abdul Malik
~"In the Desert"
~09/15/2014
Imagine: hearing the scraping as nails harsh against, their walls
Creche preludes sensing this foreboding; crawling, past these veins ?
Sanctum sanctorum and macabre's, man-of-war his abomination peering
Stepping-stone hallucinations; intuitive marked it's beast ? Ancient's, six'pence....
Monere, a child's eyes prophetic tides omega: hideous, standing where they ought not.
Sitting in the waiting room her sunlit day; complying to their sequence
Amid a foregone conclusion ? Appearing suddenly out of nowhere
Ineffable somehow it seems this, March two thousand twelve's
National Geographic's copy titled, 'The Journey of the Apostles....
Theocracy's last supper sublime; tableaux ? Instinct taking hold slowly
Savoir-faire walking past these doors surely tis for me ? Sanctum sanctorum
Seder thirty years now, gone by ? Why his doctor queried; Angels in the mist hieros.
There was the hunger
and suicide.
In favor of my brutal truth
or virtue of my failure,
I do not want any comments on my trauma.
Morality has a dubious equation
with power, provoking my anger.
The days were full of abandoned kilns.
No more shaping of containers
in which one can put the moon,
and honey and roses.
Everything was turning brown
with infinite, sulphur smelling teeth
ready to bite into golden flesh.
Convicts behind the walls were playing
with mirrors to throw the light on slick
towers. Death was laughing, waiting on the trees,
eating black berries.
And I was forced to taste the blood of sky
with sodium –
in sanctum sanctorum.
SATISH VERMA
There was the hunger
and suicide.
In favor of my brutal truth
or virtue of my failure,
I do not want any comments on my trauma.
Morality has a dubious equation
with power, provoking my anger.
The days were full of abandoned kilns.
No more shaping of containers
in which one can put the moon,
and honey and roses.
Everything was turning brown
with infinite, sulphur smelling teeth
ready to bite into golden flesh.
Convicts behind the walls were playing
with mirrors to throw the light on slick
towers. Death was laughing, waiting on the trees,
eating black berries.
And I was forced to taste the blood of sky
with sodium –
in sanctum sanctorum.
SATISH VERMA