Silver-tongued soothsayer
with a voice of gold but
breath like mercury,
sing me a future full of
blue nights
&
days that seem to always
sit at the horizon.

Feed me opiates through dreams,
through tubes
down the back of my throat,
where I turn them into
poisons for my body to feast on.

Force them into my genetic make-up;
let me replicate a beautiful nightmare
out of my marrow and exhale
careless sociopathic lies
to ******* strangers and
******* with first names
I don't need to remember.

Let me be Ohio's last astronaut;
my head is past clouds,
my body, beyond earth.
Sympathy will be reserved
for those who have lost
their hearts, their hope,
their homes, their minds,
their control,
their bodies,
their functions,
their...

Yes.
Their dreams.

'1. List of things that I can no longer be:
A Viking
A Sorceror
True

2. List of things that no longer taste as good:
Angel delight
Dip dab
You

3. List of things I still might do:
Stay
Leave
Get a tattoo

4. List of things I no longer build:
Rockets
Carts
Bridges

5. List of things I will no longer do:
Marry
Light fires
Tie shoelaces

6. List of things I will always know:
The scent of your sleeping
The lengths of our bodies
You and I, touching

Death does not distinguish between the evil and the good
Death knows of no class barriers nor respects any neighborhood
Death does not time by watch or clock when he comes to call
nor cares what weapons he uses to put an end to all

Death wears no distinguishing marks his identity to show
does not live in lofty Mansions nor in basements down below
He may drive a Jaguar or Rolls or a far less desirable car
he may come from close to hand or may travel wide and far

He may carry a gun or sword or bomb it matters not to him
he may by careful planning come or just appear at a whim
he may well appear in designer gear or rags all tattered and torn
he may be full of beard and hair or his head be covered or shorn

He may be young and fair of face, or beautifully formed
or be the skulking stranger disheveled and deformed or
the man at the Barber's, with sharp scissors in his hand
or the man with the laptop quietly studying devilish plans

He may look like the man who long has lived next door
or the one who's just moved into your neighborhood
he may look like a shifty stranger or the man who at
Church or temple or Mosque seems to be doing good

Never trust in Death to appear as you would wish him to
for Death has a thousand disguises to mystify me and you
he's the Universal Sorceror, the man of the changing face
he comes to all, in every land, is known to all and every race

Death may even be a woman, she of the sweetened smile
she of the husky voice who can enthrall you and beguile
Death may even be that youngster with a grenade in hand
Death may appear in your home town or in a distant land

Death has been the final enigma, through time to times anon
and Death shall wait in the wings of the great Theatre of life
Until the great curtains close and all the audience has gone
And all shall look upon Death when their life draws to an end
but shall Death at the first look be repulsed as an enemy
would be - or with open arms be welcomed as a friend?

THE DREAM
When the stealth of the silent night descends upon Earth.
The latter falls asleep fatigued and forlorn in the darkness clasp -
Oh Dream! You dawn upon me with your ever playful mirth.

I know often your purports surreptitious as you -
invade Mind:s invisible reign,
Half-awake, half-asleep the tired body is lain,
Your whispers are heard:
A pretentious smile
To make man victim of your dark design of the while.
So, stay far far away,
Make me not a victim of your frivolous play.

It is when in solitude your footsteps slow advance
With your bewitching smile and a fictitious romance
Mind struggles hard in the impregnable domain of the subconscient -
You, like a clever sorceror cast vile tricks transient
To win the human heart
Deep in stupor in forgotten moments of the infinite Vast.

Invade me no more with your ugly design
To fall into your oneiric snare,8
Oh Elf of Darkness in desolate realm of the idle hour,
Your inane desires to make man's corporeal mind
Subservient to your grotesque design
Of the unworthiest kind.

Invade me not with your errant thoroughfare -
of random thoughts of nether mud and mire,
I aspire to be awakened to the One Distant Call that makes me rise,
I live not in hopes of your false promise and a fake paradise.
(Bijoylakshmi Das, Anand Utsav Ashram Haridwar. 24 June 2019)