In Jerusalem

In Jerusalem, and I mean within the ancient walls,
I walk from one epoch to another without a memory
to guide me. The prophets over there are sharing
the history of the holy . . . ascending to heaven
and returning less discouraged and melancholy, because love
and peace are holy and are coming to town.
I was walking down a slope and thinking to myself: How
do the narrators disagree over what light said about a stone?
Is it from a dimly lit stone that wars flare up?
I walk in my sleep. I stare in my sleep. I see
no one behind me. I see no one ahead of me.
All this light is for me. I walk. I become lighter. I fly
then I become another. Transfigured. Words
sprout like grass from Isaiah’s messenger
mouth: “If you don’t believe you won’t believe.”
I walk as if I were another. And my wound a white
biblical rose. And my hands like two doves
on the cross hovering and carrying the earth.
I don’t walk, I fly, I become another,
transfigured. No place and no time. So who am I?
I am no I in ascension’s presence. But I
think to myself: Alone, the prophet Mohammad
spoke classical Arabic. “And then what?”
Then what? A woman soldier shouted:
Is that you again? Didn’t I kill you?
I said: You killed me . . . and I forgot, like you, to die.




insight07's blog

Mr X slept with a lot of stress
Crunching his nerves into ten.
Then, on waking he found
He had nothing at all.
No work that killed him daily
No wife that didn’t understand him completely
No children to disappoint or cry
No boss to tell him to straighten his tie.
There was no body
No fingers no bones
No hair no horns.
In that stillness
The darkness jammed his mind.
Filled every crevice and corner
Till there was no breathing space-
Because that body was no more like
You and I.
It was just a physical being
Unseeing, unfeeling, unfeeling.

Copyright ©Devika Todi. All rights reserved.

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