SAMSON:

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

Your hands

still embedded, minutely,

with fragments of bone

from the jaw of the jackass – how clearly

you should have seen then,

the warning implicit in your weapon –

 and the flesh that covers your fingers,

warm even now, ridiculed as your are,

chained and kept far from the sun,

flesh that has touched lips and breast and liquid essence, touch now

what your eyes can no longer see - and your mind explains to itself,

as only a mind can - how your eyes

have led you to this place;

for in the dark

you have forsaken yourself, followed instead

the fallacy of the moon

whose weight is nothing

compared to yours and whose light

is but a reflection, like the lake that reveals

but has no reality, yet

you gave the moon all your secrets,

allowed the moon to remove your strength

and now

your two hands, hands that once held, caressed and fought,

rest upon the pillars of the temple

as you strive to bring everything down…

yourself

the moon

and the shame of being blind when the sun

gave you all the light you ever needed.

Salt

Like a mound, I feel,

Piled but on the slide towards a fatal spread

Atrophying…

And in my ears your words,

More salt upon the wound,

Ring - forming a conch of my heart

So nothing escapes

But pours towards my centre

And commits me to this weighty state

Of waiting…

Of crying

But the tears cannot shift enough salt

And my flesh burns

And my eyes

Are now blind.

I await the return of your flesh,

Perhaps even a finger, to reach across and touch

Turning everything back to me again.

Absalom (edit 1)

The picture, from a book my mother gave me

back when I was just a child, tried to draw

the reader’s eye to the shock of black hair

that had willfully managed to tangle itself

into the low hanging branch of a tree

and

his mule moved forward

and

his enemies drew close behind

and

Absalom, lifted up away from his saddle, dangled

and

waited for the killing blow.

What I recall all these years later was the distress
on Absalom’s face as he realized that hope
could be snatched away by the thing he loved most.

David wept at the news – and isn’t that just the way

that when the son is gone, the father remembers

the smell of his scalp, the feel of his hand,
the way he looked at you as if you were a living God?

And now at the death, David is alone, Absalom’s wrongs

forgotten, the bitter words lost, the anger a breeze that chill’s the heart

leaving behind only the emptiness where once Absalom,

David’s son – and all those that would follow him - had dwelt.

The Prodigal Son (edit 2)

 

The force that drew you home - a blind worm

at sunrise drawn without hope towards

the expectant beak - was it stronger than

that which drove you to choose emigration?

And your brother, did he ever forgive you,

who took for granted all that he had

not (forget your father’s words,
what else could he utter in justification)?

Did your mother’s eyes ever lose their sheen

of pain? Did cousins, once co-conspirators,
and family friends ever cease
that curious sideways glance in your direction?

And in the cloying heat of a summer,

as you lie in your tossed bed, surrounded
by familiar sounds, do you wish to again

escape with every exhalation?

Absalom

 

The picture, I remember from a book

my mother gave me when I was just a child,

tried to draw the reader’s eye to the shock of black hair

and the way it had willfully managed

to tangle itself into the low hanging branch of a tree

as his mule moved forward and behind his enemies

drew close and Absalom was lifted up away from his saddle

to dangle and wait for the killing blow.

What I recall all these years later was the distress

on Absalom’s face as he realized that hope

could be snatched away by the thing he loved most.

David wept at the news – and isn’t that just the way of a father

and son, that when the boy is gone, the father remembers

what once was, the smell of his scalp, the feel of his hand,

the way he looked at you as if you were a living God?

and now David is alone with the chronic sadness

at the death, Absalom’s wrongs forgotten, the bitter words

lost, the anger a breeze that now chill’s the heart

leaving behind only the emptiness  where once Absalom, David’s son -

and all those that would follow him - had dwelt.

Daniel In The Lions' Den:

In the den then, the stench

Thick as a father’s disappointment,

Daniel stood and remained untouched…

Had the lions found peace

Through a murmuring prayer Daniel released?

Or, having just finished a feast, could it have been
That man, comparing all to their own greed,

Never understood the beast killed for need

And never for sport?

Daniel, then, in that den,

As he stood and shivered… or did he

Always believe he would be unharmed?

Did he stand in that dark place and smile

As the lions stayed resting upon the hard ground?

Or did he even dare to sit and let the lions

Pad close, their fur, as hot as a warmed rock,

Touching gently his arm and feet, his face and breast,

Their hearts to beat as his did?

When the cave’s boulder was cast aside

And Daniel finally released, did he turn back

And spare a thought for the lions

Or did he stride back into the world of men

Without ever considering their fate?

Prodigal Son

The force that drew you home -

the blind worm at sunrise drawn without hope

towards the expectant beak - was it

stronger than that which drove you away?

And your brother (the expanding cave was once

both your home, each of you making use of it

to be different from the other) - did he ever

forgive you, you who took for granted

all that he had not (forget the father’s words,

what else could he utter in explanation)?

Did your mother’s ocean-green eyes ever lose 

that sheen - saltwater glistening on the curved shell, 

the tide in recession - of pain? Did cousins,

once co-conspirators, and family friends ever cease

that curious sideways glance in your direction?

And in the cloying heat of a summer’s deep blue night

do you lie in your tossed bed, (the ship at the mercy

of dream’s many turbulent waves)  familiar sounds surrounding 

you, and wish to again escape with every exhalation?