This, my Communion: A poem

This is not at all schizophrenic

This is not delusion, but magic

God’s gift of clarity, even if they all think

it is hallucination, as if after a drink

And, today, Mum came in all her beauty

to reassure me, like it was her duty

in a blue sari, with the sun disc around

and sweet little Phoenix making no sound

And Dad, suited and booted, displayed a gun

as if to say some task was finished and done

It seems, yet, something was started, a run

It doesn’t matter who lost or won!

I know my love is an endless shore

that even the universe can’t outroar

And every breath, I inhale, is reunion

With the Supreme, my sacrifice, has been my communion