Half a century, I travelled East
Treading pathways; trading
thorns for smiles.
Time was melting in her hands;
Warm, with no fire,
it was burning
and melting, as wax
on blades of grass.
His eyes are made of frosted glass,
No light enters, nothing escapes.
From your gravestone, I pick flowers:
Flowers harvested for springs to come.
Lamps, dimly afloat in a crimson mist sky.
A quarter of my life transcended North,
then dropped back on swollen grounds.
A thousand salt tears, I travelled West!
The wall of doubt that, I with certainty, raised to glory
Stings the heart; my vision, set ruthlessly ablaze;
Sworn to be built, so as not to repeat the story,
Finds me yet again, in a maze within a maze.
What disparity lies, in what all occupies our thoughts:
You and I: do we not cherish only, tiring ourselves to sleep..!
Craving to experience in all consciousness, an illusion
Of a dream; a dream, dear Slumber dare never keep!
Nothing is all I have:
I do not know if that is enough.
Nothing is what seems to satisfy this mind.
Nothing fulfills me like Nothing itself,
and yet I long for more.
Disillusioned with the illusion of Time;
Not a complaint, ’tis only a glimpse
of my honest sharing.
I lose my patience to be forbearing,
then seek it back only in waiting,
for my sweet, promised hearing.
This Form, loses form
In anticipation of a demise,
Only God could ever know
of this aching sacrifice.
I must sedate the demons inhabiting this frame.
I know the rules too, yet fail to interpret
How to shift courses of an unwinding game:
Nothing to quieten thus; and Nothing to tame.
She was bestowed a valuable, the value unknown.
Now I toss it in the river, the river from her dream:
Was the river me? Or am I a sprouting stream?
The precious belongs to the beautiful,
To the other than I; she is not mine to keep.
We share dreams no more, even in my deepest of sleep!
I’m awake, woken by a memory sweet,
A memory that begs of me to greet,
Greet the death of a slumber, no dream;
No thoughts recurring, wet soil, no stream..