Before the idol
The human visage is decreased, Crushed, humiliated Before the sun-god in the east, An Aztec tower of skulls, The charcoal sati, So too the faiths That with sticky amity Exaggerate forgiveness Of every sin and crime, Consigning the man’s spirit To weakness and grime Unable to see That he is powerful and free. When we take each step With integrity, And we fear the toxic wind, Our will is strong And we conquer coral islands, Oblique and oblong. Awake and tough, Not interested in favors, Dispensations, Hastily contrived waivers, But principles, pillars, Not dismayed by a dried-out Pool, a savage rifle, We seek the rain beyond drought.
0 Comments
The natural avenues
Of the synapses As goodness grows While time elapses Lacks the power that seeps From heart to skin To give each scrap its name That is most genuine So that the name Comes close to the entity, So that the light Shines upon the raw vitality. And the heart of the father Will turn to the son And the son to the father’s Rough homespun. Pride (the kind that expels
A flavor of something not quite…right, Is filled with an illusion, Something that explodes when we bite Down, that we can reach the Divine Itself, higher than any names, Before the cosmic eggs Hatched, waterways and frames, That itself is a statue, A molten image that we Have hidden away, A mistaken identity. How broad our life becomes When we see that There is nothing we can see Of God, beyond all habitat, All thought, every idea, Until we are crowned With glory adn with joy Upon the ancient ground. Is that us, me? Only this Clears a person like glass, Through which he sees himself, Black sky, blue ice crevasse, He is one spark breathed upon By a cosmic breath, the source, Carried down along The foaming watercourse. |
Yaacov David Shulman
Archives
October 2019
Categories |