How
many elements of God exist in Namaste? I
ask with aches
splintering
through mind. I feel her as one feels
an unborn to
love
her as one loves a new birth ever to muse upon
faculties
and features and futures surging within Namaste.
How
to
complete soul driven through soul and dying in pieces? I
ask
with pains lunging into a universe ever for
misunderstanding.
Is it valid, such as a stranger’s grief, where
unsaid
observer is dying in pieces. I ask for an ideal which
sees
itself to extend a quality of mercy to its reflection. Life is
absent
of perfection where we near her soul
through affection.
Am
I remiss?—to fly through apparent
with need to investigate
an
opaque reality shadowed in pieces,
particles and patience. I
ask
sorely in motion to filter through motivation where I’m
want
for a sky’s tattoo; and such a mood to fuel sullen analysis
while
tiptoeing through sentences; for a social blunder lingers in
a soul’s garth ever to inscribe pressure
on a man’s mirror to
scream,
I was astonished. More for an unseen
where a
personality
is
wailing, Namaste. I’m without need to
respond for need to
respond
ever so blank as to believe said personality is
unaffected;
and yes, I see to imagine a burden redeemed
through
success where three become one and one becomes five.
Such
is for light, a grain buried upon surface ever to pillage
unclaimed
earth while gluing pieces staring into a starry stream.
I
met her in my absence to see her on my return ever to churn
through
a series of disciplines. I move to love a life spinning
through
blocks where a lady asks, What have you
built? I’m
but a child to give a
child’s response, This is my fairytale
home.
