Steeping in cool waters
The saffron sun on the
Bowl of the pond.
Taking my vitamins every
Morning, the C in my veins
Mingling with the salt in my eyes.
I ride two buses to my chapel
Of peace, a set of flowing
Waters, unblessed but holy to me.
Pacing the dusty paths of
The preserve, I ponder the
Wild waterbirds, wandering.
The ducks, unburdened by
Prejudice, finding their ways
Along the tiny beaches.
The spice of life, I infuse my days
With the fine herbs of musical
Birdsong and chords of clouds.
Finalizing my day's work,
I board the buses home, busy days
Ahead, but for now, hallowed, heady harmony.
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the quietude of things, tathev simonyan
I wish I could pray every day,
Over dinner or at bedtime
Or anytime during the day perhaps.
I would say I have nothing to
Pray about, but that would be a lie.
I have plenty to pray for, both for
Myself and for others.
All I would need to do is
Clasp my hands, bow my head,
Talk to God.
Then my hands become repelling
Magnets, my head, full of helium.
My prayers stay stuck in my throat,
Choking my soul.
On occasion, I vomit up these
Words caught up inside,
Spewing out of my eyes and mouth,
Screaming a silent scream as
The rain streams down my face.
It's either this, or the prayers
Frozen in place would chill my heart,
Turn me to stone, kill my spirit.
Scaffolding by Seamus Heaney