Ghazal: At Rumi’s Tomb
A sky shaped like a face – no it can’t be that A wingéd horse on fire in the middle of the air –…
Apothecary jars on shelves of burnished silver
beakers filled with smoke gurgling in the dark
Something must be brewing from these nefarious ingredients
shamans in the depths of shadowy forests might use
Bits of waxed thread amber in its gum form
shedding lovely golden glows on the proceedings
Cotton dipped in liquid light then dabbed on clean surfaces
(I’m not even sure what these various things are for)
Maybe buried deep in Bavaria mountain fastnesses
these laboratories exploding sometimes with transformations
Their innocent practitioners having to stand back suddenly
while a whole new creation forms before their eyes
Not a mote or motion goes by without God’s knowledge
every shred of evidence left behind or in eternity
Each new combination of antiquated materials
that opens its infant eyes on this rapidly passing world
Suddenly it’s quiet in the alchemist’s environment
everything assumes a uniform pewter sheen
Rumblings are heard from distant deep volcanoes
even straight pins on the floor begin to vibrate
The sky leans lower and the earth strains up to meet it
there’s suddenly an unearthly but inclusive coming together
Unseen world and seen world embrace in broad daylight
an audible whisper of intelligible phrases is clearly heard
This poem tumbles into being with all its shortcomings
the way a whirling dervish solemnly steps onto the floor
and takes its joy and gnosis by simply circulating
where before there’d been nothing but the usual equilibrium
It all takes place in silence
and returns there when it’s done
New windows are opened
where before there’d been none
12/28/2007 (from The Fire Eater’s Lunchbreak viagra generika günstig online kaufen)
Categories: Poems