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Tuesday, November 08, 2011

Love-- not yet known

Love -- not yet known

by Azly Rahman


Come twilight when poetry no longer visits
No longer sent to knock at your door when night falls and the eerie silence of the wind that rustles with rage
When in the deepest dungeon of the wasteland of your soul sings the joys of living only you yourself will join in the serenade
When the image of you becomes what I have yearned to be in the night in which only mute souls mutter
When all is no longer poetry but a prose of a thousand parchments of sound bites of your emotions in hypocrisy yearning to become a michaelangelo of your madness
Come twilight when you and I are like molten steel inseparable yet in harmony with the spheres of eternal sound of joys of the clanking iron grids of our hearts telling each other stories we are yet to create
Come twilight when poetry will be as cold as a room of a gaddafi transitionary cemetery
Poetry-- you and I will conspire with Fate.

Come nightfall when I no longer will call your name etched in the meadows of my yet formless beingness
When you and I await Time to scream its first cry of infancy
When you looked at me a thousand years repeatedly and like a never-ending chants of serenity you professed a love that has neither name no sensibility
When the waves have not yet rush to the shores in their madness of a lover's delight..., persistent like a man beating his chest bloody in the ancient city of Karbala
Like drops of rain yearning to fall in the misty morning ocean of mercy you and I could see engulfing the souls of Man
You called my name
Across a sea of molten steel
Bubbles of love's labour lost
Come nightfall
Still-- meadows of my unborn soul etched with your name
The mantra and mourning of your silent cries of yearning for the self in you -- through me you will swim across the sea of molten steel
Come nightfall
Fate and I will conspire

Come nightfall
As I close my eyes wide open to the reality of the unreal
When eros becomes thanatos
When the catharsis of the infancy of my primodial soul becomes an ever growing mutating metamorphosis of memories of the beautiful things I shall not cherish but command poetry to be the scribe
When all these become the objects of desire of my dreams
... When you and I have become creators of this playground of a child's hope
A child neither born nor dies when age sinks her into the world not yet created
Come nightfall when you and I in dreamworlds parting in anger as a Nile river of yesteryear
Come nightfall when we shall whisper the koans of catharsis into our ears that no longer have a form -- only sounds like a Newtonian sphere exists
Only then
when night falls
we will
with Fate conspire
become one -- like eros and thanatos


I have looked at you with eyes closed
You sat on a throne of gold I crafted; all that glitters gathered from the finite world
For a thousand years
I called your name
Words not yet formed I whispered into you
Time not yet created I await you
I looked into your eyes


And when twilight comes
And when poetry no longer knocks at your door
I whispered your name
Flesh and blood you shall not become
But Love --- not yet known




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