I turn the tempo of temperament
like a wheel in fortune’s lap, like a slap
of something delectable on my tongue!
I am sorry that I forgot to clean last dinner’s
food-droppings on the floor. It’s left the
scurrying roaches something to feast about
through the night! But I am reliving the moments
of savour. I am a child so precocious that I
was endued with the gift of wisdom at birth!! Could I
have shouted it out through the embrasure of my
darling mother’s womb like an endowed infantry
marching gallantly into life for productive reconnaissance,
not altogether destruction; but, yes, to demonstrate fate’s worth to the enemy!
When daylight first touched me, like a pastel shade of pain,
and I realised the processes could be beleaguered, embattled
in my prematurely unformed honorability, that I couldn’t even cry
over a future for myself that nobody would find enviable!
I am so wise, however, that the stoic played out his role
like a candy of candour walking the streets with resolute dignity in
sublime knowledge, that things will come to pass in all the tribulation
leaving their own mark of inviolate energy in my soul, even the
laughter from frustration be an enigmatic education! I feel so hymnal in divinities,
so psalm-like in praise, of wonderful catchments of
amazing grace (at my age) shrouded in the peripheral diminution
of the illuminating darkness of the nightsky, that only embosses
my receptive mind with lucid revelations of love and truths. These visiting mentors
of wisdom’s meadows shaping up my brilliant understanding,
realisation, awareness. These immense preternatural beings (blessings) that dress the
blue cloth of my integrity, honour, dignity, ethic, intrepidity, if they were a fabric
I’d never exchange for anything, even if all the pain I felt through the
aeons dissipated into a nothingness! I hear, from the magic
that abounds from externally consonant spirits and internal
intuitive insight: That our pain makes us; and not only makes
us, but makes us beautiful! I am just living in the touch of such purity of
wisdom like a paintbrush on my soul’s malleable canvass, if it can dress me in
colours, that are yet undiscovered by humanity but known to the Ages of the Universe.
I think that carnations over distant timeframes and near ones, give infinite but tactile
poetry to one’s spirit and snap the prevalent culture of existentialism.
Guess what? I learnt a new word today at the soul-imprint of
my keyboard, it was the Japanese word “zuhitsu”, for confessional poetry!
I think even adroit energies can be humble to the extent that they
tell their tales of truthfulness, even when they run the risk of
prejudice, manipulation, chicanery and hijacking. I don’t need potation to
be fearless! I am no fearful funk of fruitlessness, in any case. I have
the gumption and courage to love and fear none, in my determined love
in the face of every adversity. This is the spirit of all my reincarnations,
and the vibe-filled photonic energy of all those who reincarnated all through
with me and the foundation and fortress of every flank of my ancestry!!!!
The mythic hero is a silently touted victor even in the failure of his
revampist (not revanchist) venturist righteous right-footedness!!!
He doesn’t wish to dulcify the procedure, he wants a hard-knuckled reality
to make all the deserving blind astutely see; and the culprits cower in their own infamy!
This is my legacy, this is my culture, this is my tradition, this is my history!
