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 that Russian short story
Died 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 at all by my own strength,
But with utopian fire
In the secret silence of the night,
Under the stars of the dismal sky
Here I am, 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 be blessed by God.
Worldly desire, that labyrinth of mirrors,
Has held me in thrall (in chains?)
And bids me grasp all the world,
But nothing will satisfy.
When will it end, that incessant chain of
More money, more power, more glory?
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 to.
The fire from heaven creates, does not destroy.
"Be who you are meant to be," she said,
"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 not to.
And I shall break through -
For this is him, he is utopia. Welcome back home.
Here the fiery sun is always rising. Never sets.
And there will be no full stop
