Let not the sun emerge and lacerate
The clouds, nor graffiti the sky with light,
That like a cloistered rose I may escape
The bee’s advance, escape the fragrant plight
Of sweaty stars, of wet earth, of erect
Plants and pregnant birds; I seek asylum
Where no birth, no pain, no death can bedeck
My cloistered self, to which I say, “Tat Tvam
Asi”—Thou art that, destroyer of thought,
Father, mother, progeny of eternal
Verse, the silence that flows and does not clot,
The soaring rains and the muck infernal.
But then the wilting sun in lust returns
To tease the bliss my pious heart does spurn.

Sunday, January 28, 2018