Drop it, the chant, the rosary of beads;
watch dissolve the mist.
Such a flow of honey,
not honey, not a mist,just a flow,
an alertness, an awareness of being.
The flow expands, but does not sweep you off the feet.
No more fear in the deluge of peace.
Are you lost? Are you there for me?
I no longer need
the comfort of your being.
It expands and carries
all that remains of me.
I come back and hear the voices of agony ;
voices of suicides choking in tunnels,
I know not the cause.
I see a poet being accused
of terrorism, a revolt that he could not carry.
His audience accuse him
of an incomplete mission,
of leaving them dangling in the air
with impotent words of poesy.
"Truth is incorruptible", they had heard him say.
"Show us the Truth; give us hands either to kill
ourselves or kill Truth."
"The cowards cannot kill", he said.
The corrupt cannot kill the incorruptible"
They who were half-way on the way to Truth,
turned back.
From a safe distance they shout,
"Are you the prophet or the terrorist of the day?
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