What is this,
some kind of chasm
that restrains one
from the other,
that one hand—
untouched the other
or a face—uncaressed
much more of a breath—
sublime as split-second?
Is it the wind—cold and
armed with fear
gripping every soul?
A subtle melancholia is brewed
in every space, everything is
cleared…silence takes
over and speaks in
the machines—all in
white...In linen covering,
In closing of the stage
curtains, as heroes and
villains grace their exits.
Yet spectators are merely
silhouettes and everything
else—is fading in the twilight.
The scale hurdles
to be in balance
but—the heart is too
much to bear. And the
mind—powerful and
profound can’t do
so much. Only—the Love
of the Great One
in the recesses of
Eternity.
I promised myself not to write anything about this pandemic
because i didn't feel like doing it
but about three nights ago,
words miraculouly came in
during my unguarded thoughts.