Epilogue

Epilogue
by Azly Rahman


poetry has come to me again
so often it knocks at the door of my eternal soul, i do not understand
hardly the time i have to gather the spirits inside of me
from their wanderings whilst i am deep in slumber
to gather them
... to warn them that poetry hath come
so excuse me while i kiss the sky
and caress the muse
and serenade the darkening stars
under this angry moon
canopied by the red blood sky


T'is not my nature with poetry I meant to hurt anyone
Philosophy is so powerful it permeates
     and becomes love
     and becomes poetry
     and hence philos and sofia
     and the hands write ...
But philos must come down and dwell amongst the citizens of Maya

I am philosophy in search of boundaries
        religion in search of sensibilities
but perhaps, looking for these
            from the balcony of the glass walls of ephemereality
   --- i should not have meddled in the affairs of humans
          nor look closely at pine trees
but your poetry have of late touched me so deeply ... so deeply
                               shattering boundaries I guard jealously
and yours are words that branched out of this physical reality
    so real they are yet glazed with metaphysical reality
                                            with pure religiosity

These conversations
we hold dear to our hearts
in the presence of the Thou
    they are here to stay
    come snowstorms
    come sandstorms
    come the company of angels on fire
These conversations shall remain cherished
   and guarded from others who will never comprehend strange phrases i must utter

But not you perhaps
  For I have long lit a candle
  by the side of the biggest and strongest pine tree
  and camp there nights so many
    whilst I preach to this magic carpet
        --- rats! how can I bring this tree for this magic ride?
             never have I meant to transform dragonflies into trees!
             tress will be trees
               specks of dust will know joys and miseries
             for these are where heaven and hell lie
             in a world of fractal beauty and weeping dragonflies

We might never meet in flesh and blood
    --- only in cybernetic reality
But this --- is the ultimate beauty.

 
At the "Louis XVI Collection, European Art" Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, circa 2005