Saturday, 6 November 2010

76. Al-Batin – The Hidden Traveler


Suggests hidden, immanent, behind a screen --- WB Yeats
"When all that story’s finished, what’s the news?"


Hello

Feet have
almost gotten
home - through the gate,
the path, a door,
turning green
to grey and brown;
from natural to man-
made - corroborated
by harder edges
and the sounds
of one hand turning
a handle’s practical
activity exhibiting
pattern and habit:
splitting a second. This
has happened many, many times
before - but there’s
a pulse today,
an unending slowness
and a longing old
seeking of senses
zooming their fibres
towards, out, and passing
a dovetail of door jamb’s
groovy inclusion
compression and feeling
a spot of reality;
a hug with my son
who whispers my ear
‘Daddy, hello;
you’re alive.’


Nasrudin
Pull up a Bard from the deep well of time:
to upset a market stall – end to end –
face like an apple and eyeballs that swim
with a love for the sea, and song, and land.

Let’s pray he’ll unearth our divinities,
vibrate with truthfulness, word made flesh
and we’ll laugh at the Fool’s juggling throws;
troubadour, genie, granting a wish

but keep (under wrapping) your silences;
don’t let him question your deeper passion;
don’t let his eyeballs poke out your sadnesses,
panning for gold at the edge of the sun.

His weirdness is love - more heaven than hell
and a jester’s a sage and - well - all will be well.

1 comment: