RETURN
a command came
from the brown god
which left me
under no illusions
and there I was writing
deep into the night
through sleep
through dream
following that river
my river
as we made
our course
to the sea.
****
Oh, the disregarded
divinity
of this labour
words are
cheap
are below
us
I hear you say
in the voice
your words commandeer for you
****
river of life
what songs
do you
have for me?
what songs from
my childhood
for I was born
beside a tiny river
a trickle of
a tributary
that
on its way
to the ocean went
Strawberry Field, became
full Sergeant Pepper
not that
those that bore me
much cared, knew at all
and last night I dreamt myself
crossing this river in your victorious city
finding my
way
finding my way
and now everything
that I write
you must view
through this prism
must write what I wrote
through this prism
river of life
celestial city
surreal little lanes and streets
of which your
four troubadours sing
****
deep
into the night
how deep
your inquire
and
what the depth
of this river?
really, such questions, interrogations
that I should be forced to
made to answer
for I know not of depth
beyond absolute abyss, the rest
relatively speaking
I only know flow
this
a poem of rivers
river of
my birth
river of my dream, my death,
rivers to which
I will always return
as the poet in the ninth prelude
speaking of
waters doubling back
finding ways
back to memory
I will just shrug and
smile
be your village idiot
not spiritual professor
(for what did we learn
not under
revision
in eternal state of advisement?)
as the night
gathers shape
and the fire of the spirit boils
the water of the soul
and the air
lifts up rain
caressing that surface
and the earth will wait
as the earth is wont
the earth has me booked
and placed
will find space
for my body
and the poem
being done
what left for its fate
but to fold into
ship shape
return
to the brown god (damyatta da)
give
back to
that source
set adrift on those flowing
never ending waters