Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Patra


Only the pureness can touch now
The debt fair, debt foul
In raw experience exposed
Come for offerings
Blood and guts
Ambrosial and Mahaprasad
And this life breath soma
Never compelled
Only in love
Eat, drink, be merry
Satiated, Then go
And come back empty and pure
Thus indivisible: relishing, ravishing
This joy yours,
Your joy mine,
But never ours, on this razor walked
Murmured vowel sounds
Saying come back tomorrow
But stay all day
Rise up and fall down
Something lifts this hand holding
The vessel of skull, not sure whom
And why is only a sentiment
Unbecoming of true moments, spirit,
And heart.
Poured over, poured onto
Drowning not sorrow, just drowning
And breathe in sweet gasp held
The substance of passion on the tongue
Elevated in touching its tender essence
effulgence rains down, spills out
To a secret smile, to unbent convictions
To a swagger in a step
Wind wisdom whispers are gentle of touch
But stoke fires which rage
Burnt not dry, but boils to the liquid core
That holds all tastes, elements, the tune they hum
Mysterious singer, un-locatable
Seated upon two corpses named birth
Named death.
Above, in a union of,
All that Is and Never Was, whose sum
Is Beyond all conception
and unspoken
This revered patra
Can’t be held, but it is taken up