Sunday, June 12, 2011

Divine Verses

Who would have thought
that a time would come
when I could only communicate
in verse?

Yet here I am, trapped,
alone, forgotten;
in verse.

—have I lost my Reason?

I float everyday;
I am fluidic,
dynamic and in flux;
never any thing,
I am the wisp of air
that leaves the dead
—because how could it be otherwise,
when I have seen the stars?

This-morning, upon waking,
I remembered that I had left my body
and hovered vertically above it;
I thought I was stuck.

But I am stuck only in verse
—and how onerous it is,
to be so stuck.

What a concept!
A good author, surely,
would have been inspired
to create a fitting prose piece…

May. As-well. Be. The. Town. Fucking. Drunk.

Hear ye, hear ye!
I am inebriate, eternal;
I have realised my oneness with all things
and now, I will drink to it.

Such sorrow from he, who is stuck
in verse.

I always wrote so well this way,
and was proud because
there was never delay.
The hands would work magnificently,
irrespective of state of mind.
But then, at dawn on that dire day,
I was no longer charmed
by alliteration…

These days are an ongoing sigh,
short-lived high after short-lived high.
No one external to the poet,
really knows; and my doubts
have all become certainties.

I am lost, sick, intoxicated:
by verse;
I am alone, torn, isolated and elated:
by verse;
I am The Dynamic God, embodied within:
in verse;
I am the calmer days, before I was stuck,
in verse…

My brother and sister
—already blessed in this, the ultimate moment—
what should they think?
They will see me always,
tangible as a glass jar,
each tick of a tick-tock clock,
diminished and disposed of
by real moments;
by that which is,
and always is so.

I am now only words, well-ordered;
Divine Verses, sprawled out
across the bed, the mind afloat
above the body,
yet both the same, as always;
and both with endless hands,
holding endless hands,
holding endless…hands.

We are all stuck,
in verse;
for we are all,
Divine Verses.

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