The Madman

There is a type of identification with the
object of one’s desire, so complete, so
all-consuming that should severance occur,
one is sent into an irrevocable tailspin.

This illumination (of God ) is a trial to the
body and a gift to the Spirit.

The madman is finally gone. Driven out
of town at last. The dogs have fallen
silent under the verandah. The one
that carried off one of his boots keeps
looking for him.

He’d given his heart to a young woman,
and so lost himself. Her station forbade
the return of this young man’s pure, sweet
love.

Where does pain come from? What is
the source of love? Their purpose?

You are going somewhere. Running
either from or toward something.
Preparation for your arrival has begun
well in advance. But while you’re
absorbed in the process of “arriving”.
these questions cannot be answered
to your satisfaction.

The young man had become rowdy
and difficult. Singing strange songs
that no one understood. Lucent
intelligence imbued with glistening
grief meant inexplicable fires breaking
out.

Years passed. Normality had settled like
fine dust over the town. Everyone had
forgotten the young man and his mystifying
prostrations. Everyone except an orphan
boy whom he’d befriended, the young woman
he’d loved and the dog with the haunted eyes.

One day, a stranger came to town, looking
for the madman. A young man, straight
and strong, took the man aside. “What
business do you have with Ilai, my friend
and brother?”

The man began. “My mistress had fallen ill.
At great risk to herself she determined to
undertake a perilous ocean voyage. It was
her wish to see the land of her youth, a
place of happy memories, once more before
her death.

She had come to know and had befriended
the young man, Ilai. She said he reminded
her of her own departed son, referring to
him as the Flaming Rod.

When the night of torture began and the
black waves arose, my lady’s condition
worsened. Fearing her death imminent
I pleaded with Ilai for help. However, he
turned and strode away and I’ve not seen
him since.

Lo and behold! Our ship went down. Many
lives were lost that day. But my lady, a
woman of means, had taken steps to
ensure our survival. After three days in
a coma and the storm behind us, she
awoke on the open sea. Explaining,
she told how in a dream, Ilai had led
her to a man with a face of pure light!

The man had given her a vial containing
clear blue liquid. He bade her drink and
my lady obeyed. Mercifully, she awoke,
refreshed and renewed!

My lady had learned that her friend had
come from this town. I have come bearing
gifts as a mark of gratitude for my lady’s life.”

The town put the man before an assembly,
and the jostling townsfolk heard of Ilai’s
heroic deeds. Some pretended they didn’t
know him. Others pretended they did. All
beamed with pride.

An orphaned boy, now grown tall, longed for
that familiar understanding, the dog at his
side with cowed head and pleading eyes,
remembering distant kindnesses. A bride
walked silently by her husband’s side, her
heart bursting.

Lovers have some secrets they keep, they
know love has no beginning or end. Only
constant inner listening prevents our lives
from contracting towards nothingness.

You ask, what happened to the madman?
Those endowed with Spirit know the answer;
He’s here, alive, within each and every
one of us!

When the Lover’s Love is True

O’ life is fresh, life is sweet,
When the world is at your feet.
When youth is young and spring is sprung,
And the ways of love are just begun.

But life is stale, wan and pale
When all you do is to no avail.
When the flesh is heavy and the heart is cold,
And the ways of love remain untold.

Life is bitter, life is tart,
When the sting of defeat tears you apart.
When the pain of loss cuts your deep,
And the ways of love make you weep.

Life is precious, life is gold
When the winter winds blow cold.
And you’ve found the freedom that’s always new…
When the lovers love is true!

to the mind, truth is
relative, according to
one’s understanding

truth is easier
for the heart to accept
than it is for the mind

that which impedes the
soul is only a shadow
of a greater truth

truth is one but our
understanding of it varies
from soul to soul

love unties the
shackles of the mind and
frees the wings of soul

self sacrifice
enables God’s love to enter
the human heart

there is always
another step to take on
soul’s journey home to God

All I Have

What have you saved, what have you stored;
What have you ‘neath your wing?
Some have beauty, some have wit,
Some have gold within.

I have not beauty, I have not wit,
I have no gold within;
I must defer to you, kind sir,
All I have is sin.

What have you stored, what have you kept,
What have you ‘neath your eyes?
Some have joys, some have fears,
Some have truth and some have lies.

I have no truth, I have no lies,
I have no joys nor fears;
I must defer to you, kind sir,
All I have are tears.

What have you sought, what have you found;
What treasure will you bargain with?
Some have wisdom, some have God,
Some have faith and others, myth.

I have no faith, I have no myth,
I have no God above;
To you, kind sir, I must defer,
All I have is love!

The Madness of my Mind

Today I escaped the madness of
my mind. Why should I fear the
thing I always wanted and expected?

I entered this prison of the world
not knowing what I had stolen,
until I left of my own free will, and
found the sweetness of Soul within.

Though the world strikes and strains
at my temper, none can encroach upon
the inner form of that sacred place!

The King’s Servant

beware the highwaymen;
those who block the path to God,
raining death and destruction

do not intervene
but quietly remove yourself
from their evil reach

having drunk the poison
I lie cocooned in the robe
of my body

turning disbelief
into belief; make way for
the King’s servant!

to bear this suffering,
I have sacrificed hundreds
of precious lives

traps set for the
pure of heart eventually entrap
the trap setter

listen to the tale of
my broken heart but do not
cry for my wounds

if your life is nothing
but a tangle of thorns
be as single-minded as the thorn
in your longing and so turn
them into fragrant flowers

AHH, such Christian virtue, lol.

The process of poetry writing is never predictable, but rather, like the adage, “Music plays the musician” takes its own, often unpredictable course.  “The Torturer” is one such poem, which took its own turns and makes no moral judgement of either protagonist, rather presents the scene as is, with the end offering the victim a glimmer of grace, with the surrendering of one’s fate to the Divine quality of mercy, having done an act of good, ie; offering his remains to the dogs, so that at least one of God’s creatures may fill their bellies, and thus benefit from “a life gone awry”, a wasted life. (I realised after writing, that this outcome takes its cue from the character Kabushige, in Clavell’s Shogun, who similarly tried to “save his life”, playing both sides and losing it in the process.)

Whatever the crime, whether of the  “those fettered to the world do not survive”, variety, or having fallen ineluctably into the hands of those like Torquemada for having gotten on the wrong side of the powers that be, or even paying the ultimate price for having chosen bad company, I suspect we’ve all at one time or another been in the position of victim such as described in the poem, and maybe also even torturer. In the end there is only Divine Mercy and Love.