Angels

“Slice me a piece of heaven

Where clouds taste of cotton candy.”

Pondering the likeness, as I marry pen and paper,

Thoughts of the abode intrigue:

Is the pysch-wanderlust for an existence that my being beckons

Or a cornucopia for desires?

As smoke from chimneys curls and unfurls to air,

I settle on a third and, like Plato, attempt

At understanding scrolls whereupon truth lies self-effacing;

My perfection that does not dilate my reality.

With a world to construct, being and time to address:

A minute mustn’t lapse at sixty denominations,

Malleable, so dribbling moments may stretch eternal.

The sweet smell of sunshine should everlasting reign

But clouds must still gather everyday

To wash away sins committed to us.

Decree-eth I, the moon, the whole moon and nothing but the moon

Must part its veil and glow wholesome the land

With dancing rays which needs must tiptoe around stars

For they call to hearts in the obstinate dark.

Let us reanimate shadows of souls we know

But not as they are

For one grows often weary of an old chorus;

Further unshackle imaginations and from themes

Let stem variations that you writ upon this canvas.

Above all, evergreen be silence and numb voices in my head,

So I may hear angels sing

And understand them for myself.

 

 

The photo is taken from Arnaav Bhavanani’s album: चीर बत्ती | ignes fatui

 

चीर बत्ती | ignes fatui

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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