Orb, Twine and Light
I was dreaming of an orange orb
luminous on a grey ground
that sat in my palm
as if that qualified me as a mage
I roll with it, down a grey chasm
into this dreaming night
soft with colours of a Turkish rug
just as comfortable
stitched and stitching
beyond the horizons of youth
The backdrop of my travels
I feel an inner heat, sung with harmonies
in camel’s gait, quarter-note
sustained soft, waiting like a true love
untroubled by the blues
in the songs of others
In my head, I’d travelled far
now the real road opened its loving lotus
blowing away the puffed cheeks of pious deities
I’d sobbed angrily as I lost the love
of their angels - until I met real ones
who do not judge
And the loom clacks on,
over-shadowing sorrows and expectations
below a stained glass firmament
where caravans drove a culture that rocked the East
long before the West was born
When victories were in helping;
metaphysical, transient
doing turns that shaped lives
forgotten, like Buddhist benevolance
invisible successions - the rider,
gone before sun-up
pfft - a thousand years has passed
And as that grey dawn weaves
in the engine of causality
the weft and warp reveal familiars
we thought we knew not
come to us by spooks and knots in time
that none believe in
Buried in fanatical lies
history’s beautiful colours
were washed out of a grey
that screamed for luminescence
and it begins
in this orange orb