The astral umbilical cord which tethers flesh to soul,
in Death is torn, the spirit soars, the man is no more whole.
In life when man is put away outside the city gates,
untethered by a scornful wife, his spirit bears the toll.
Untethered, man may roam the paths of cemetery aisles
as dead, yet spurned by those in graves--the living corpse's role.
As dead in spirit, living flesh hangs rotten on its bones,
yet breathing still it can not qualify to rest in hole.
Though charitous among the living offer food and clothes,
I only seek from those I've lost to fill my begging bowl.
Declining shelter I have chosen life under a bridge,
that I may watch my loved ones from afar, their ugly troll.
Where love is life, a loveless life is spiritless corpus.
In my decay in search I stray to find again my soul.
(C)2013, Christos Rigakos
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 7:16 PM UTC
The astral umbilical cord which tethers flesh to soul,
in Death is torn, the spirit soars, the man is no more whole.
In life when man is put away outside the city gates,
untethered by a scornful wife, his spirit bears the toll.
Untethered, man may roam the paths of cemetery aisles
as dead, yet spurned by those in graves--the living corpse's role.
As dead in spirit, living flesh hangs rotten on its bones,
yet breathing still it can not qualify to rest in hole.
Though charitous among the living offer food and clothes,
I only seek from those I've lost to fill my begging bowl.
Declining shelter I have chosen life under a bridge,
that I may watch my loved ones from afar, their ugly troll.
Where love is life, a loveless life is spiritless corpus.
In my decay in search I stray to find again my soul.
(C)2013, Christos Rigakos
Ghazal
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