"She died at heaven's gate .. "
I know she would return-- but not dead and still lovely
And tell me-- it is not because of the poem she
called "wicked and funny"?
... Not the metaphors of Life I used
way too many?
Not talks of boddhistavas and deserving nirvanas?
are not -- I hope
For these are mere words with not much hope
she sent me sandstorms
And reconstructed love and conjure
stories of more storms
The Rubaiyat of Wall Street I sent her was a
gift too strange for many
But one which is a prelude to a
Many hath received gifts from me -- but few giveth back
Are we not the Gift -- unto IT we return night and day,
every second aplenty?
But this lovely dragonfly of mine that
flew close to the sun--
had not I expected her to surrender so
Though I know that rubaiyat a thing so phantasmagoric
bound in eternity
I did not write the rubaiyat -- neither
the butterfly many thought had died already
But is fantastic --
is it not?
What kind of mind created such verses
Not to be
shared with others
Never reveal these to others
fountain of Al Kautsar it must have come
Verses and verse poets
O' Messenger I have said to this soul searcher
the hand -- as it writes --- writes
None is erased
flows from the heart
Love conquers all with all its might
I write drunketh and intoxicated
As I sit alone in my kingdom---
of rainbow I erected
We will find out how this divine
comedy will transpire
Methinks it might be beautiful if the Dead
and Love reconstructed entire
I will make
this journey a peaceful one
Thou hath come a long way in search
of the Chosen One
Stay for a while to write this story
have journeyed times too many
Sit back, relax
Cafe Mocha Grande' Starbuck coffee if you may?
She is a
Many hath asked me to lead them to this path so right
right ... so right ... it is so blindingly bright
But not for
this soul who is aspiring to greater heights
Messenger tell me this
Which gate of heaven is she now at?
night before I sent her a gift
Like many gifts I sent her and
many others for their journey
To loves of my life and to unseen
I do not think this
soul would be back so early
I had not finished even rewriting
Dante's Divine Comedy
Lovely is she not? And she has the sword
with her too
one engraved with the words Might and Right
she arrived early in the morning -- perhaps she took the early flight?
You will stay with me
And write this chapter of
It can be better
than a rumi
or john donne's poetry
we shall see
And I have found my way
Already bored with
metaphysical muses at this grand tower made of ivory
And bored of
multiple voices I find fake, hollow, and empty
Rewrite this divine comedy
But who is me?
Who is "we"
In this kingdom of harmony?
bring me the answers to this soul's beginning
and its destiny ...