A saint is a stain on white monotony
aloud he thinks: I
am a strange dot among the government of lines;
a mystic is a calm slip into abyss
all joking aside he says:
above the city leaps into tower;
a shaman is a subject under the tyranny of wholeness
aware of segments he asserts:
a fraction is mind lost in the order of totality;
alone in the world every man wonders:
afraid like a leaf in autumn my life
amidst the rain;
a poet is an absolute ark of air
abstruse and above all
a little puddle of reflection
at the end he writes:
a full world and its aura
asleep inside a shoebox
an allegory for barefoot monks.
4 thoughts on “19A”
superb, “an absolute ark of air”. My god, that’s delightful.
Thank you for stopping by!
You are extremely talented. I am curious however of your view of life. How did you come to embrace it? Do you ever want to search for meaning? Or are you content where you stand?
never content, always looking for more