"surrenderance" poems
Am I plain stone?
To be thrown far from the eyesight
Am I skin of the tiger
To be stepped by soulless merchant
Am I blood soaked by relative fellow?
Am I a lost tribe’s leader?
To be adored as saint
Am I lost prophet?
To be searched in caves where the Jinni settled his colony
Am I a Jurassic fossil?
To be displayed in a crystal cube
Am I a jasmine essence?
To be smelled after third millennium
Am I lost planet
The curse of mankind
Am I paradigm of goodness?
To be diminished by surrenderance
Am I perfect mischief?
To be hailed as a Gospel chant
Am I wing of purple angel
To bring you shade
While you search for knowledge
Am I supersensible tune?
To be played by enlightened heartstring
Am I aerial spirit?
To bring you storm
In a midday when the sun
Reads its quatrain
Am I a cosmic fluid?
To be dispersed as a star dust
Am I divine enough?
To rejoice for a cosmic harmony
Am I the bell from the angel’s wings?
To bell the beginning of a new prophecy
Am I a saint that shows hardly his miracle?
To be later adored as Godling
Am I pure water from the desert’s spring?
To be drunk on the moment of death
Am I death of Art?
To be reborn by Theurgy
Am I a drunken lover in Love?
To be perished in the quantum of photon
Am I stupid to reveal a new discovery?
So you may pity or
You may salute and laude
And so, and so, and so on.
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 7:44 AM UTC
Have you ever had that moment?
You’re standing on the mountain peak, for that one moment.
For that one moment, I can almost hear angels singing,
I can see the true beauty.
And it isn’t just the vast sky above me dotted with clouds,
It isn’t just a waterfall, or a desert scene of hot white rock,
Or majestic tress standing tall as to say, “I am”.
Or the stars coming together with their mother moon to almost dance in the twilight,
And say, “I am here, and so are you, and this is IT.”
It isn’t just as if I’m walking, down a long dirt path,
Lined with fireflies, and the sweet breeze accompanying me like
An old friend that I never met but somehow know.
It’s something to do with the birds chatter, and the child’s laugh,
The bliss of some sort of innocence, a lack of need for things
That I can have, but don’t bring me above the mortal, material, mundane.
No real understandable words, nothing really sets it off,
But it goes, as a shooting, pure assemblage
But its followed by deep chills, and some surrenderance upward.
Some serene, almost lonesomeness,
Yet accompanied by all the souls of the world.
I’m not self, but everything,
For one fraction of timelessness
and it’s almost like it all makes sense
Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 10:41 PM UTC