Yana Djin Immortality

Father.
with the passion of the Baptist,
the meekness of a calf,
you snatched my soul from despair –
taught it to laugh
at the false horizon:
Its barbarous stretch.
You will no longer see
my palms outstretched.

They will only serve
to cover my face.
As I pass my sentence
through space.

With the covered face
But with a naked heart
I’ll erase the easel
of earthly hurt.
And splash new colors
upon the canvass of drab.
Extinguish all habit:
A flying crab –
An unseen monster –
Solitary imp
who spreads compassion.
Like a pigeon that limps.

I’ll sprawl across the desert
of solitude.
naught.
Where no one can desert.
Nothing can be fought
Except the beat of Time
that only a heart can hear,
whose pulse is love.
While Time’s – is fear.

Father.
You baptized my soul
into the lack of need
for this charade,
this space
stuffed with cruelty,
greed.
This dirty mirror
of our thoughts, desires
that have no core:
Like soldiers for hire.
Redeemed at the cost
of someone else’s death.
Father,
I’ve had it!
I’m out of breath!

I’m out of luck.
I’m out of wishes.
I’ve burned all bridges.
And ripped all leashes.
My voice is a howl
of a dog gone astray.
But it is more honest
than of those – who pray.

And my eyes –
they have seen
the depth of the dark.
Where the heart shrivels
into dead bark.

And my ears –
they’ve heard
the pleas of the herd
Old, as the days of Herod.
Eternal as hurt.

Father.
I’m stepping out
of this lowly stride.
That is called survival
and nicknamed “life”.
I’ve traded all the five
senses for the sake of one.
That is made to decipher:
what’s not here –
what’s gone.

For it is with you
that I have the bond.
And from now on:
I will look beyond.

*********************************************************************

Division # 7

            There are moments when I forget.
            Forget that we will never again meet
            in this domain.
            Memory -- like a crane --
            flaps its wings and escapes my scalp.
            Transports me to another landscape
            where loss is unheard.
            Like to a herd
            of newborn sheep
            is yet unknown the coldness of the blade,
            whose sharp edge against their throats
            will wake them into life.
            Reality,
            Father,
            is a bridge
            stretching over the sheet of cruelty --
            So immense.
            So vast.
            That one's heart must be confined
            into a cast.


            Father.
            My eyes are slit.
            Tears and blood -- they pour.
            The universe's roar
            falls deaf against my ears.
            The heart, though, stays intact.
            Denial and neglect
            is my response
            to this order of cruel chance.
            It isn't "here" I accept, belong.
            My soul -- with yours--
            has leapt, has left the throng
            of all uncertainties that mark the flesh.
            Father,
            When I, too, turn to ash,
            then I will be at peace.
            And float on faith with ease.
            Till then,
            I'll plunge my body into a temporary --
            yet coherent -- dream.
            And in the interim,
            I'll let it scream!
            I'll let it wail --
            a wounded whale
            that is too big to smash its life,
            to perish fast in the attack.
            And disappears slowly:
            Lack by Lack...


            Father.
            Nothing can kill the tension.
            Or the guilt.
            Neither wine.
            Nor Time.
            The tension of the loss,
            of pain
            is hidden in the eye,
            that's now made to stare.
            Listless into the fare
            offered.
            And it isn't much...
            It isn't much without you.
            Azure fog
            envelops me.
            Grows dense.
            Acquires features.
            Yours.
            Father,
            I'll walk the course.
            I'll pay my share
            to the oblivion
            where the soul floats.
            Without care.
            While body lives, remembers
            inside the universe --
            that trembles.

**************************************************************************

Ascent # 8

Father.
Slowly
Quietly
I rise.
Dissolving forms.
My corners
scrape against the lies
and bleed and tear.
False cries
no longer enter my ear
attuned to purity
with which you blessed.
Father.
The water hissed
benevolently
Of forgiveness.
Of clarity.
Of truth.
Father.
Little by little,
I loose…
I cruise with no direction
towards You.
Into the Blue
that lingers
still.
Serene.
Into the Blue
that lost all fingers
meant to point.
Accuse.
Father.
I said,
I loose...
Thick hues –
they scatter.
Disappear.
Grab the flesh
along with fear.
Explode with deadly lust
Into the dust.

Father.
Like dust I roam.
I float.
I rise.
My corners no longer
scrape the lies.
I hear cries.
I let them in.
But not inside.
Their voices are false:
Elastic pride.
It has a limit –
the highest pitch.
It hits the reach.
Then rips.
Then fails.
Then falters.

Father.
You are boundless.
And I’m your daughter.
I hear nothing.
I kneel in pure solitude.
I kiss the water.

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(PART 2)

PASSION # 6