The Last Offering

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I come, to the void of myself often
It is the soul of my solitude
It is where all the curtains are drawn

And I am in my own privacy, in touch
With something of the divine
I go there like an escape from the outside world

It is my heart of subjectivity
And I do not find it at all terrifying
It’s a splendour to own such a place

A piece of art, an order of nature
The soul built by spiritual suffering
A palace of mysticism who could understand?

What to an artist is their dream
To the cruel world how futile and juvenile
But we all require a soul to function

* * *

A spirit to push us through those terrible nights
Where the world is truly against us
And we are abandoned by friendship, love, profit

How many days of my life have I slept there
Alone, for that is the self-indulgence of
Risking and of striving illicitly, stubbornly

Against the peer pressure of such a conforming world
That cares for profit, reproduction, tradition
Perhaps we are not all made for that, I do not know?

But friends do leave and a dull pragmatism does
Set in, like the idea of responsibility for ordinary things
As when mates leave us for our idealism

I would have imagined it would be a virtue
But what if in all of this, the world is wrong?
And my soul is right, and I am doing what

I was meant to do all along, how shall I forgive myself then
For squandering my talent in subjectivity
And loving my own doom through it all

* * *

There is no room in this world for poets
So perhaps we shall do it as if in secret revolt
The revolution is always born inside

I need no solace from existence, only
My divine food, my guise of dream, my birthright
Of sacred psychology, that is why I write

It’s not a delusion nor in glowing pink afternoons
A mistake I made in being who I chose to be
It’s my exercise in the cosmos and empathy

It’s my last belonging to simplicity
It’s me mimicking all I thought was beautiful
To be grateful for a moment, together
With silence, whiteness, bareness, authentic authority.

16 thoughts on “The Last Offering

  1. This is really nice Wuji 🙂 Really, beneath the facade we pile up through the years, we are just human, just simple, just yearning for beauty and peace and soul music.

  2. This is really nice Wuji. Really, beneath
    the facade we pile up through the years,
    we are just human, just simple, just
    yearning for beauty and peace and soul

    • Thank you izee, I like to think that and whatever isn’t going right in our personal or professional life, art is like another theater of relationship, identity and bliss.

      • Absolutely. It is in art that we find expressions for all the unspoken words and uncaught happiness. Somehow, we find a way to embrace our dreams even if it’s for a tiny moment.

  3. No room in this world for the poet indeed. I am feeling a bit lost with what to do with my works. They are divine and dear to me but sometimes the outlets for it seem so small in comparison to what my letters mean to me. Didn’t mean to sound negative. I do love writing but sometimes feel suffocated and stifled in this world with the passion I feel deep down. Thanks for this Wuji.

  4. Wuji, the words we craft will always resonate with the cravings of our hearts. At every point, we get immersed in deeper things and let our ink paint our soul songs on paper.

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