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the door of it all opens with a slam tilt-
the dervish with a lion & a tiger is also under a tree
even in his idol body earth & sky surround him
like his whirling kin mindful of collisions
with each syllable of sama- sama is listening
a part of remembrance you sing a song
four minutes long twice to pass eight minutes-
there is a great difference between knocking once
& knocking twice & ringing the door-bell-
there's a great void in the absence of an expected sound
a dream of one's own then draws a bridge through
the door when private myths- of a dragon
blocking the river- monster earthquake monsters-
cathartic eruptions- she-goats raising a child- spill into you
passportless- a consent of touchness- of free-willed water
mice-shiver- a drop of lava a drop of magma- low-volume
forms of colostrums- you sing a song
I want a roadfull of dervishes into my door my hope
in the pervasive persuasive wind of their hirkas through
the stains of their awareness- hopelessness-
a thing in itself not a lack you sing a song
an unexpected sound unexpectedly fills the void like
mountains pop-up in the rain to retain cloud- you gather loose
pinballing seconds into a leap-year song on the way to my
there is no door because no human song has an exact length
~Ajay
21/12/2019
YOU ARE READING
bliss station ~ poetry
Poetry~ where is your bliss station / you have to try to find it ~
