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M Solav Dec 2019
Vous a-t-on parlé déjà
D’un temple sans nom -
Sans mémoire et sans nom?

Il fût oublié et pourtant
Quelques-un croient encore
Que le temple existe bel et bien;

Qu’il se trouve juste ici,
Entre le jour et la nuit,
Entre le soleil et la pluie,
Entre le silence et le bruit;

Et que lorsqu’on s’y rend,
Lorsque l’on ouvre,
Lorsque l’on entre,
On y entre toujours;

Et que l’on vienne de ****,
Que l’on vienne d’ailleurs,
Que l’on prenne son temps,
On y est toujours à l’heure;

Et quand enfin l'on s’y trouve,
Quand enfin l'on y est,
Entre et parmis ses infinis murs,
On n’en sort jamais;

Si l'on ose y discuter,
Que l'on ne prononce qu’un mot,
Celui-ci devient discours,
Interminable fardeau;

Et l'en son sein une seule pensée
Bien que plutôt éphémère,
Se transforme en grand brasier,
En immense calvaire;

Et que si l'on regarde,
L'on peut voir très bien
Que ce que l'on observe
N’est à peu près rien;

Et si l'on prête oreille, que l'on écoute,
Qu’un seul son enfin résonne,
Ce bruit sourd que l'on espionne
N'est nul autre que l'écho du doute;

Et quand finalement l'on oublie,
Qu'à tout jamais l'on s’y perd,
Lorsqu'enfin l'on s'y abandonne,
Se trace béante le contour d'une sortie;

Et que cela exige de souffrir,
De s'y faire saint, s'y faire martyre,
Qu’il nous faille le supplice d'y périr,
Finira-t-on au moins par en finir;

Et lorsqu'un jour l'on en sort,
Lorsque que le voudra enfin notre sort,
Ce n'est qu'alors, seulement qu'alors
Que sauront coexister vie et mort.

Et ce jour-là, cette nuit-là, dira-t-on,
Que l'existence fût un temple -
Un temple sans nom.
Écrit en juin 2017.


— Droits d'auteur © M. Solav —
www.msolav.com

Cette oeuvre ne peut être utilisée ni en partie ni dans son intégrité sans l'accord préalable de l'auteur. Veuillez s'il vous plaît contacter marsolav@outlook.com pour toute requête d'usage. Merci beaucoup.
__________
ketjil Sep 2019
I
My body is a temple
Ancient and crumbling
I speak in languages
Old as dust
The sea
Retreats when I come near
The earth
Quakes beneath my feet
Trees
Bow to me
When i walk past
Don’t mistake me
For one of the gods
Even they
Fear me
Even I
Fear me

-jt
Ylzm Aug 2019
Jerusalem, will of Man, of Ishmael, and not Isaac
Dome of the Rock and not House of God
A constant thorn and not peace of the Earth
We weep as those who wept at the Second Temple

Jerusalem, a lure, a trap, a stumbling block, a sieve
******* to false prophets and worldly kings
As Ishmael sent away, so shall Jerusalem be exiled
For One greater than the Temple is here: Immanuel

Jerusalem, Bride of God, shall descend from above
Trumpet blasts in skies, the world shall see and mourn
All Israel gathered and her enemies judged
The kingdom of the world becomes the kingdom of God
Awesome Annie Jul 2019
I kneel before the temple of tomorrow, while still lingering in yesterday.  Cut by broken promises, and choking on the words I couldn't say.

Here I cried a river so vast, that it became a sea. I cupped my hands but couldn't catch, all the shattered parts of me.

Prayers slip from red stained lips, but it's just to heavy in heart. There's no more a clear reflection, that ripples do not part.

I have hope tucked in my pocket,  I built this raft with dreams. But I can't keep from drowning, it's busting at the seams.

Waves pull from the earth, my heart now ticks to the rhythm of sorrow. I can't mend what's already fallen apart, but I can find faith in the Temple of tomorrow.
Sally A Bayan Jun 2019
(of Angkor Wat)



Two years after, i still think of that
forest, where an old temple stands...
most structures are carved with intricate
designs and images...architecture was
influenced by their Khmer culture...

posts, frames and doors are stilled,
statues are tight-lipped, like frozen
witnesses...drowning in the voices
and noises of flocks of tourists,
reminding me of the noise and confusion
of my daily existence....in my own world..

i went up and down many stairs, went through
doors within doors, i lost count, while catching  
my breath, wondered why there were just door
frames............silent walls, old posts, and old
trees gave a cold feel of a distant past......yet,
in my mind, an aura of magic and mystery
hovered upon the entire temple...as if ghosts
of wisdom, and lots of stories lay dormant,
imprisoned......within the structures...

two summers and monsoon seasons passed,
my thoughts on Angkor Wat, haunt me still,
and bring back my thoughts on those doors;

some doors on our paths are closed shut,
some are ajar...some open easily, but are
ignored, or feared...some, close too soon,
before we make our first step to enter...
some stay open, yet, we become complacent,
some, have no closures or finality...leaves
one in limbo....
how will we know if it's the last one for us?
how many doors more...for you? for me?
does death give an end to life's entrances?
........or, is it just a beginning?


Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
January 2017
(Angkor Wat is in Siem Reap, Cambodia)
Eric Jun 2019
Little horizontal linings, with bountiful treasures finding , happiness between the walls of tidings.unwinding the fact we're all crying , inside an it's denying the lying .
The here and now in my Little House of hell, words may tell , but moral of the story is , I'm unwell. This Little House is small these days , as if I fell . Looking up at things , I just can't tell. I try to be one with all , but I realized we are in hell . There aint no way out , dying , happens to be a dream without a doubt . Where no screams or shouts , can be heard even when it came from your heart and you felt,.... out.
And just came back to the same Little House.
-I feel stories need to be told -
Madison Greene Apr 2019
you look at me like you might drown in me
a body of water, to rinse away the exhaustion
you look at me like there are depths you've yet to dive into
uncharted territory
you trace the inches of me like there will always be more to love
like you will never grow tired of the skin I'm in
I've grown up knowing that my body is a temple
but I've never met someone so dedicated to worshipping it
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