You know, I look at my past lives
like flowers lazily tossing their heads at my window
If I were to take the enchanted path
And discovered that it holds precious little
And, yet, how much precious lot have I lost
like vintage coins misplaced somewhere in this lifetime!
I saunter in a meadow, in a pasture of failure
Not because I have failed, but the link hasn’t succeeded
A lock has been placed on my door for all posterity
And there is no way I can open it, with the key broken
I am not the Fisher King, but I feel wounded in my genitals
And my kingdom is laid to waste
Would I be that Parzifal too
failing to ask myself the sole question that frees me?
So many dear heads have rolled, and the maidens are parading them in front of me
And all I see is the parody of guilt conflagrating the façade
But I don’t deserve this nomenclature, nor the blame
How can I ever love, that love be misbegotten
when the hijackers besiege the very flowers
that I place in the vaze of my heart?
Am I to be perpetually betrayed?
For, there are too many illegitimate partakers
taking up the footstools around my throne
Love is lost in the apparent chaos of this deluge
How long was Sita with Ram? And how long was she with the enemy?
Time is so incalculable, it is the estrangement that is both quantified and qualified!
Why am I lamenting – this is an eternal story?
The garden falls vacant and the sound is silent?
The bees have all gone to honey the enemy!
