Heroic Sacrifice

Sometimes in life you have to throw away everything

For the love of God, in order to put Him first.

And you may receive nothing in return immediately,

Perhaps not even the satisfaction of knowing 

That you have sacrificed everything for God.

There, in the darkness and desolation of that heroic sacrifice,

God will meet you in all His glory,

And show you what He meant when He said He loves you.

Arise, warrior, reader of these words of mine,

Fight and live for God alone,

For Him who created you and 

Knows you through and through.

Put Him first and see the change

And I am the Mountain

I came upon the mountain, as it were, by grace,

And began to scale it as soon as I could.

As I clambered up, I descried the radiant faces 

Of those descending down,

Becoming the cathedrals they had entered and left,

Returning from the peak back to their lives.

I reached the peak at last,

And spring and summer and

Autumn and winter

Began to flow into each other till all were as one.

Birth and life and

Death and resurrection 

All walked beside each other,

Becoming as one majestic epic moment

In this beautiful hour.

The timèd became as timeless,

The eternal invaded the ephemeral.

In an instant of awe-inspiring beauty it was all over,

I rose to return.

And I am the mountain

O light light light

O light light light.

Fiery, cleansing, healing light,

Light that burns away all the dark 

That ever has been, is, and could be.

Light that grabs darkness 

By the scruff of the neck and 

Incinerates it

As it lies there, screaming.

Light that obliterates the darkness by its very essence.

Light that burns away all the fears, the sorrows, the weeping,

And cleanses us into itself,

And heals all mankind from every shadow.

In the evening of my life -

(And every new morning is an evening,

For I know not how much longer

My path shall last

In this world below,

For I, formed of dust,

To earth's dust shall soon return,

And others will walk upon that dust that I once was,

With their own feet of clay.)

In the evening of my life, I was saying,

When shadows and darkness attempted to invade,

Light began to awaken me.

Every morning became a new awakening

Into the seriousness of existence.

Each new moment was one step closer to you.

The serious joy of walking closer to you,

Day by day, until this life gently gave way to the next -

That joy was the iridescent aurora

Against the backdrop of the stars of my night sky,

A night that was quietly giving way to dawn.

Light transcended my mortal frame,

And I who ran about in repeated, endless circles,

Was pushed, nay, thrown out of my comfort zone,

Rattled out of the rat race,

And invited to break free.

The window frame of my small, dark room

Exploded into smithereens at this blessed sunrise,

And thus could I breathe fresh air at last.

I then heard a voice -

A certain fellow sojourner seeking light,

Said unto me, with a voice from centuries ago,

Echoing down the halls of time:

"Let me receive pure light;

When I shall have arrived there,

Then shall I be a man."

I turn back to you again,

With greater resolution to complete this quest.

And have I said that you are beautiful as well?

For like the exquisite patterns in poetry,

The perfect beauty of your love for me,

Has overwhelmed me and set me free.

O light light light. And we all go into the light,

Whence we came from,

And to where we hope to return.

The rich, the poor, the angry, the forgiving,

We all go into the great light, 

That sombre epilogue to the world's end,

Into that light where all is seen by all,

And where we are finally judged for our choices and actions,

By the true standard of morality that cannot fail.

Fiat lux. Would that God would speak light 

Into the lurking shadows in my heart.

Would that I allowed Him to.

Comes the light, and with it perfect refulgence, 

And majestic pulchritude.

Bright the days, bright the nights,

Bright the tears, bright the smiles,

Bright the light, the fire from heaven, that creates,

Does not destroy (for behold,

All ends of this kind are preface to immortal beginnings).

Bright the heal that crushes

And the sword that pierces the darkness,

Bright the destroying Death,

And the destruction of death,

Whereby all the wiles of the dark

Are sabotaged and rendered powerless.

And bright your resplendent eyes,

Brighter than a thousand suns,

Watching over us

Like a gentle dawn.

Slow but sure the dawn of the thousand suns,

Quietly waking us up from sleep into life,

Slaking the abysmal thirst in our hearts

With the elixir of immortality

Which is light. 

The fire from heaven.

O light light light.

My best friend died when he was thirty-three

My best friend died when he was thirty-three.

I never saw him die,

Never went to his funeral -

I never saw him at all.

I never hung out with him,

Never chatted by the side of the road,

For hours and hours.

I never shook his hand, 

Never saw his smile.

But he is still alive,

And I see him every day,

Although I never see him.

He is there for me everyday,

Waiting in a million churches,

For me.

I go there to see him,

I genuflect before the tabernacle.

I believe you are there for me in the Holy Eucharist.

Waiting.

I smile back at him.

My best friend died when he was thirty-three -

I never saw him die,

Never saw him at all.

But he is still alive,

And with the mercy of God, I - and we all -

Hope to see Him one day.

Let Me Hear Your Voice

How heart-breaking that here below

In this valley of tears,

I can read and hear 

Only the translation of Your words,

And not Your words as was spoken with Your very voice.

"Let me see Your face,

Let me hear Your voice,

For your love is stronger than death,"

My Lord and My God.

And behold, here I am, lost again

In this forest of words - 

Wouldst Thou lead me out again into reality?

I do not know if this is poetry, but this is for You anyway.

I hear You call my name, I hear Your voice,

But I cannot see whence it comes from.

Whither art Thou, O undivided Love of my heart?

I cannot see You,

Lead me out by the hand.

O lead me out by the hand,

If only so that I could feel Your hand in mine,

And could hear Your voice thundering 

Unto the depths of this restless heart of mine, 

Ever searching, ever thirsting:

Fear not. I have loved you 

    With an everlasting love, 

And you are 

    Mine

Apricity

Apricity (noun): The warmth of the sun in winter

Out here in the warmth of the Son

Amidst the winter of my sin,

I thaw.

Procastinating Love

How tragic 

That all our life

We procrastinate 

The act of loving God

And being loved by God 

And try everything else instead

Searching for satisfaction and not finding it.

For only God satisfies our searching, thirsting soul

This is What Heaven Feels Like

Welcome to the timeless heavens,

Where we speak forever to one another,

Laughing in endless delight,

With God who loves us unceasingly

When the Writer Must Be Silent

Writing in itself is not enough -

Knowing when to stop is another art.

The writer needs to know when

To be silent,

And when his or her words are not required

And can effect no change.

The writer needs to accept

That his or her words

Are not always needed,

And know when eloquent silence

Is more important than verbose eloquence

Existential Procastination

What we procastinate

And distract ourselves from

All our lives is this:

That moment when we are alone with God,

And when we have to look into those blessèd eyes,

And realize how infinitely and personally He loves us,

And how we ought to change our entire lives

In loving response to His love.

I give you one parting word, my friend:

Celerity.

Do the will of God, and do it swiftly.

For you know not the day and the hour

Of your departing from this world to the next,

Whence shall be your reckoning

Forged

In the forge of suffering was I forged as double-edged sword,

In the furnace of anguish was I refined through and through,

Until I learnt to detach, let go, and rely on God alone,

And then did I taste what true joy is.

Taste and see that the Lord is good.

I have tasted, I have seen,

And now all I want is to be His forever.

Would that I could burn and burn with love for God,

With every fabric of my being,

Until I become His beloved sword,

To fight for all that is good

Breaking Through The Infinity Room

At almost mid-day, we meet 

At the heart of the bustling city,

To run around it.

A handful of intrepid mountaineers, so to speak,  

Clambering up Mount Everest -

First one to the peak owns the mountain.

Panting, we race around the city - 

This is what we do in our free time,

We run around cities, trying to be first.

"How much land does a man need?"

Greed, greed, that was his undoing, his dying,

He gained thousands of acres of land but lost his life.

And what does it profit a man

"First one to complete the whole square

Around the city, owns the whole thing,"

I declare, panting. 

To gain the whole world

The greedy gentleman of Tolstoy's story

Dies at the end but is alive in many ways still,

Walking around cities,

Still trying to grasp, grab, possess 

All the earth for himself. Mine, mine, mine.

It will never be enough.

And lose his own life

Afterwards we take a photo

Of us taking a photo

Of us taking a photo

Of us -

The infinity mirrors of barber shops haunt my heart,

And my pale melancholic voice echoes thus,

And thus,

And thus -

Within the infinity room.

Shatter the mirror, break them into shards,

Out from the cage, out, out -

The emptiness and sadness of an empty room

That once was lived in,

Confronts me too. If only he had broken out of it and not been cornered.

First one round the city transcends it,

Escapes it.

Which perfect world shall we choose,

Which country, which city shall we choose,

To migrate to, settle in, and live the rest of our lives in?

One that has snow and mountains and forests,

One where we cannot be unpeace'd 

By the jarring cries of the poor, hungry and downtrodden,

One where there is more food, money, and shelter

(Than any man could possibly need in this transient lifetime on earth)

Unreal City

The City of the wasteland,

Let us go there,

Where we shall enjoy pleasure without joy,

Are haunted by monotony and repetition,

Where the world spins and spins and spins,

The sun rises and sets and rises and sets,

Where we survive and not live,

(And are then cornered and entrapped,

Deceived by deception.)

How could you think you could create heaven for yourself?

Would you live forever? 

Where would you be in a few hundred years time?

There is no space for utopia this side of heaven,

For utopia is not a place but a person.

I will show you who utopia is, shortly.

But while we wait, I tell you:

Words need no full stop

When the fantasy word I had been rummaging for -

The word forever - is for real.

There are no ends, only beginnings.

And I shall break through the infinity room,

Shattering every mirror,

Not by my own strength,

But with utopian fire

In the secret silence of the night,

Under the stars of the dismal sky

Here am I, lone voyager in a wandering ship,

Buffetting in the tempestuous sea.

Here when I am truly alone,

When all else has failed me,

Then do I turn unto thee

(Et clamor meus ad te veniat)

I look into your eyes,

And you look into mine,

And in the very seeing, I am saved.

You rescue me, and say you love me still:

And now, electrified, in an ecstasy of epiphanies,

I experience a new desire -

That all peoples, even those who hate me,

Be blessed by God.

Worldly desire, that labyrinth of mirrors,

Has held me in thrall (or in chains?)

And bids me grasp for all the world,

But nothing will satisfy.

When will it end, that incessant chain of

More money, more power, more glory?

This infinite regress of insatiable worldly desires

Will lead me only to destruction.

All the riches of the world

Cannot sate the abysmal thirst that I am,

Only if I attempt to possess the greatest good

And the most precious of riches

Can I be at peace.

For love is an act of the will, as they say, 

And only if with my will I choose

That which I can enjoy without ceasing

And cannot be deceived by,

Will I find what my hurting, harrowed heart longs for.

For in the secret moments of the heart

Under the stars of the night,

When I lay upon the grass,

Earth below and heavens above,

When I am alone with Him who is my beginning and end,

There I long for God,

With every fibre of my being,

For God who holds my being in his hand,

For Him who loves me endlessly,

Endlessly like the infinite stars of the holy night,

For Him in whom is my being and beginning,

I long with all that I am.

For though I am mortal,

It seems to me that perchance 

My thirst is infinite, undying,

And can be quenched only by God who knows me whole.

The beauty of art is majestic,

But more beautiful is the lofty beauty

Of a genuinely good human life,

When a man tries to live life

Exactly as how God wills,

Exactly as how he was meant to be:

In this the world catches holy fire

Would that utopia would begin:

Buds, that they may flower

Roses, that they may bloom

Birds, that they may sing

Spring, that you begin

And never end, never end.

This is the way all lives begin

With a shattering of the sun,

With a breaking of the mirrors,

With a descending of the flames,

This is the way the world begins

And never, never ends

And would that I could transcend my mortality:

Only Thou,

God,

Can lead me out from the infinity room,

Where gracelessness and worldly desires

Are endlessly mirrored.

Only Thou.

In the dawn comes the fire, like a strong wind from the east,

To vivify all people who ever were, are, will be - 

The choice is your own, to burst into flames or not.

The fire from heaven creates, does not destroy.

"Be who you are meant to be," she said centuries ago,

"And you will set the world on fire."

This is the way all lives begin,

And the single loaf that feeds the myriads

Across all time and place, remains unmoved, unchanged, indestructible.

To burst into flames, or freeze.

And I shall break through the infinity room -

For this is him, he is utopia. Welcome back home.

Here the fiery sun is always rising, never setting.

And there will be no full stop

Deceived by deception

Deceived by deception,

Trapped in his palace

Overflowing with treacherous gold,

Hidden and afraid behind palace gates,

Glittering snickering gold before and after him,

The modern man delights in his destruction.

Riches cannot save. Only love can

You were there all along

You were there all along,

Silently in the background,

Pulling all the strings,

Helping me in every way conceivable.

You were there, orchestrating every good thing in my life.

You brought me to this new country, 

Far from where I was born, 

Gave me shelter, clothing, friends, employment.

You planned every step of the way,

With a serious and meticulous love.

You were there all along,

Designing my happiness, my peace, my comfort.

You loved me first, with a serious love.

I was everything to you, 

And you should have been everything to me. 

Our silent friendship could have been perfect, 

A blessèd slice of heaven,

If I had not repeatedly placed you second or less.

The worst times of my life were when

I prayed that ugly, loveless prayer:

"God, you do not have to be the first in my life, 

There are other things far more important. 

Work. Money. Secure employment."

O do not lie to yourself 

That this is peace and joy and beauty.

Our friendship could have been perfect, 

If I had not spurned your infinite love,

Again and again

And again and again.

I have seen pictures of you,

I have spoken your name. 

I have written you letters, 

Written you poems.

But I have never seen you

In all your glory and beauty.

I have never seen you as

I see my family and friends.

I have never shaken your hand,

Asked you, "How are you?"

And sat there chatting with you, 

Doing nothing and enjoying your conversation. 

At least I have never done so

As I do with my loved ones. 

But then you remind me of yourself

In the Holy Eucharist,

And I believe you are there.

Yes, there is hope.

Beyond the glistening green leaves

Of the trees that line the side

Of the tarred traffic'd road,

Against the distant backdrop

Of the ocean-blue skies

Spread across the heavens,

Serene white doves fly V-shaped 

Towards the light of the majestic Sun,

Which stands fixed in the skies,

Constant, immovable, rock-still.

A breath of fresh air, a breath of hope.

You will always be there for me.

You were there all along, 

Humbly in the background.

Who is the mysterious and majestic man

In the background of my life,

Watching over everything, 

My heart asks, bleeding.

O that I could see him

And shake his hand

And talk to him about 

The most random things

For ever and ever.

You were there all along,

Lord Jesus Christ.

Would that I could see you

And chat to you

And hang out with you

For ever and ever

And ever and ever

And

I do nothing new

Reusing words I have already written,

I write poems.

I do nothing new, 

Yet everything is new in the writing

Somewhat somehow new.

The meanings, words, poems, are new

Yet are repeated epiphanic descriptions

Of the most beautiful One

Who was and is always the same,

Unchanging beauty

I sit out my sudden epiphany,

Taken by surprise,

Here under the countless stars of the night,

Amidst the majestic mountains,

Crying and weeping my heart out

For the beauty of it all,

The beauty of the One. 

I, quixotic wanderer in this exile of tears,

Tightroping the walk to the middle-ground of sanity,

B'twixt artistic melancholy and earthiness.

Oh I could cry for a thousand years

For the beauty of the most beautiful One,

Who is always the same,

And yet whose love is already new.

How can I ever be the same again

When He who is changeless

Has changed everything

Out from the Neitherlands

In the morning I head out 

to the window-sill of my room, 

where the angry wind breaks through

from within the room to without,

coming as it were from the storm of my heart. 

It rushes out into the open air,

rattling and breaking the window panes behind it,

and crumbling the rotting autumn leaves beneath it. 

Screaming, screaming, screaming, and more screaming. 

Welcome to the Neitherlands, 

Where there is neither the pleasure you sought nor the peace you despair for.

"Rock and no water"

Wakefulness and no rest

Laughter and no joy

Welcome to the Neitherlands

Here you will find nothing that will comfort you.

Speak to me of God, and I shall faint

Yet speak to me still.

In the late afternoon while the world takes its undeserved siesta, 

I leave,

Leaving a sad, broken world behind me.

I could not save it

But I know one who can, who has, who will.

Evening falls. This is the way the world begins.

In the new morning 

All the world is renewed

And I find the hope and rest I seek

In Thee

Speak to me of God,

In these sullen Neitherlands,

And I shall faint.

Yet speak to me still, for I need

Him who heals broken worlds

To heal my broken heart

Speak to me

Speak

Lead me out, out, out