Friday, 20 May 2016

Latest samson edit; SAMSON:

"The sun is within me and so is the moon"
Author: Kabir

Hands, famed across the lands,
centuries later still—
though more for the final act performed in darkness,
than anything ever carried out in the light—
are embedded with minute
fragments of splintered bone,
a tribute
to the jaw of the jackass—
should have seen,
when eyes could still see,
the warning implicit in that weapon.

Hands swung
that beleaguered bone,
crunched the helmeted heads
of harassing Philistine soldiers,
who swung their iron swords
and dared attack in the narrow pass;
giving little thought to irony, I suppose,
as death greeted them in that dead bone.

Hands with flesh
that covers the renowned fingers,
warm even now, ridiculed as you are,
chained and kept far below, severed from
the yellow ball. The shadows capture
your shadowed thoughts,
memories of the light; burnished sun,
fire in muscles, firm earth beneath feet,
trapped in this place of darkness,
of dead soil and lost eyes; her hands,
the fever coursing regardless of betrayal.

Hands that have touched
spear and breast,
flicked nipple, drawn blood, crushed a hand,
fired a crop, caressed a cheek,
touch now
what eyes can no longer; in the trappings of the mind
images, mere echoes, flash, flicked by a god’s nimble fingers,
the ravaged mind, more rat than human,
repeatedly explains to itself,
as only a ravaged mind can,
how hazel eyes, while still able to be admired,
have led you to this place; in the dark, lost and mired.

Do you understand you forsook yourself,
followed the fallacy of the moon
whose weight is nothing
compared to the suns and whose light
is but a reflection, like the lake
that reveals
but has no reality?

Despite the sun
and the strength it willingly bestowed,
you gave the moon all your secrets,
standing proud in the swaying-curtained room,
the candle and the moon
dancing in the evening breeze,
allowing the blood-fed sickle
to shear your strands
and remove your strength

and now…

two hands, that once held, caressed and fought,
rest upon the pillars of the temple
and strive to bring everything down—

the persistent scent of the moon

seek to bury beneath the building’s rubble,
the shame of being blind when
the sun gave your eyes
all the light they ever required.

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