Ode to Meditation (The Good Darkness)


102

This is where you are asked
To collection your mind’s fragments
Into a quiet pool around silence
Bit by bit let go of grasping

Thought without possession
Attains quantum emptiness
Perched, and perished, hidden
Beneath Paradise, minutes of fresh prey

Where you will not exist
Darting below Creation’s wheel
A hooded comet, God’s pastime
Where no tongue will tell your secret

And no observer clouds your way
It’s a gift to the ear, to make time stop
Even for an instant, resets the brain
The good darkness, deepen it

A candled moth, without half-light
Nigh journey coming closer to God
No poison of desire, no tumult of attachment
No self, no trace of following

Only the listening beyond time and space
Step beyond, be, become, die
Before Rumi, Attar or Sanai
Erase memory to upload nothing.

Battered by Words of Sad Gold


24

Often, as I awake in my room
I am the first person holding a candle
To myself, the one that murmurs
In his dreams, weeping

These are the days, I wake up to
Empty fountains, ringing bells
For a world that falters
Nearly as much as I do

My lips taste timid metals
My mouth raw with hunger
To enter the capital of the opposite of indifference
I am sick with solitude

My eyes are lost to the nights
I end up staying home, too late alone
I see another solemn evening pass
There goes my life, it weighs upon me

I am the first and last person, I talk to
Each day, the mouth that cries
No water from these eyes at noon
When the world expects my strength

Summer sheds her petals in soft agonies
It’s only in Spring, I stare and stand before
The large white house, and ponder
The clarity of extinguished things

Like memory, like the angels of the soul
Beneath the slow martyrdom of strain
I spread my heart thin in massive words
Letters, poems, that don’t amount to much.

Filling in the Blanks


Heaven, you see, is blank like an angel
Such a vast blank of silence
Filled to the brim with wonder
That it requires no labels
It’s like the purity of death

The trance that is registered
Before breath, in the genealogy
Of all cosmic cells, the flavour

Of a spring afternoon that doesn’t
Know kinsmen, but feels
How everything is related
In some indescribable unity
Heaven, you see, has no father or husband

Requires no sense of propriety
No status symbols, no possession
Heaven, you see, allows us to simply be.

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