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A Lapse; A Leap Into The Profane
A revolution beings.
“Impossible.” are the murmured
here and there.
Questions asked and incredulous
answers perceived as the
beanstalks reach for the Heavens,
as if to say; 'Climb down me giants,
I may just reach you.'
The spelled winds ripen and
monsoons come to wipe away
a village. They don’t.
But mud and floods remain.
Her mascara runs black, her eyes dark and dirty
Her laughter wheezy as she scrambles for the little boy.
Snatching his hand away from his weeping mother, she ties
his fathers fingers into knots.
Forced to his knees in obeisance;
Like bubble-bath the ground opens and into the floor he
A leap into the profane
As you turn away in pursuit
She kneels before the wholly uncomprehending mystery.
As she steeps,
Justification; a blanket she wraps around her
Riding on a scallop shell, and born of foam
She cuts the strings
A dance of black-guarding had begun.
Yielding lovely visions
In the face of cold material laws
He picks his instrument
Flowing from his tongues
A lame smith turns his sights
And braids of hair fall from his head
And invented – a wisdom
Of a warrior
A messenger- a thief of god.
Mother hens pecking at a child
Yelling at it’s clumsiness
Mother hens shouting at their chicks
At faults perceived profane
You are loud!! Child yells.
You are vain and mundane to shout so as I create!