Thursday, 11 June 2009

Mid-heaven's Virtual Shrine

offer me silence, here in this temple
secluded beneath this morphine red tapestry
silver threads tie clouds to gilded suns
the ceiling boasts in marble and glitter
music etches forward
bare disciples touch strings, conjuring magic

through the windows the streets fall
awakened by mourning,
outside a child, frayed and sickly, weeps rubies
monsoon gutters the city
dead shadows walk under umbrellas,
the sea stands in awe
flashes of light emerge as lightning rages above

the mighty crack of Thor's hammer splinters the womb of night
trees shake under the onslaught
flowers perish in suffocating torrents
goats with their murderous intent shiver under awnings

entering the night I collapse under this crown
this bejeweled headdress polluted with sapphires, emeralds, amethysts
Egyptian gold, Indian silk
I brace the winds and steer directly into the eye of the storm
my riches robbed by the wind and stolen by the sea

the deluge drops heavy on my outstretched arms
it feels like an ablution
the blue pallor of my skin exposed
doused in the passing rage

cymbals crash from behind closed doors
strange tremors and echos
a priest in white robes removes his sandals and prays
before an idol, serene and hand painted
candles adorn his reverence, bathe his face in aura
incense burns, sifting

I feel the hundred thousand feet of pilgrims bruise the earth
like a swarm of locusts
glass eyed, fearless, invoking
faces smeared with powders
dull drums and ankle bracelets cough in the void
a parade of blind seers- mantra induced, hearts ablaze
priests split earth and rain with chants of solitude
I fall prey to their hypnotic sway

turmoil unravels from my perch, above the city
pylons beneath spit fire and hiss in whispers
deep fog snakes between streetlamps, aglow
this mysterious vision, this dream, this carnival
cloaked with the sting of incense,
fires of temples and the chants of monks

the throbbing monsoon abates

the skies break forth and envelop us all in still
a severe blue cuts the horizon
throngs scatter from their exposed hideouts
waves quell
fires fall to darkness
mantra's collapse
the translucent dawn rises on his stallion

in an instant we are reborn
reborn with seeing eyes
the fogs of glaucoma drop, like scabs
and the most wondrous sun rises deep and rested from the ocean
breathing perfect calm into our lungs
and in silence
in that fraught, delicate pastel
we are delivered.

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