Persian Arabesques and Wounds that never Heal

Persian Arabesques and Wounds that never Heal
Verses of the ancient Sage 

(Gordon Coombes edited Oct. 5, 2017)

                   I
like Persian arabesques
like a sea of sand across ancient arabia
like ornate oriental rugs-

like an old cliche love gives you wings
like love at first sight
like souls intertwined-

as if every breath was sacred
as if every breath came from God
the world breathes as God breathes-

every breath blessed by the beloved
the beloved provides grace
if it seems God takes no notice-

the death of the beloved is also my death
my body is just in denial
when her warm breath ended
my body turned cold
always walking on razor-blades-

like fish swimming along the city streets
spending a year inside a surrealistic vision-

like the wound that never heals
the death of a friend
the lover lost forever
some missed chance
the doors unopened
the loss of a child
the loss of a parent-

days lost in a drug induced stupor
nights lost wandering the streets
of some fog bound city
years lost in some dead end mind deadening job-

lost days become the lost years
friendless for a few years here & there-

like fearing streets too familiar
like fearing streets too strange-

like looking in a rear-view mirror
your life whizzing by-

everywhere there are muggers & madmen
drunks looking for a fight some old lover
just around the next corner waiting reopening old wounds -

                                  II
like dreaming of the beloved asleep at home
while roaming around the campus at 3am
in a polyester uniform with a clip-on tie
so dull I could scream keeping the place safe
from bicycle thieves & purse snatchers
we never caught any
making sure all the doors & windows were secure
that the buildings wouldn’t take a walk
living the life of a zombie
like some character in a Kafka story
waiting to wake up a big bug
trapped in one of Sam Beckett’s plays
no one comes no one goes
each day another burden
tossed about on the waves of life
like the poor simpleton Candide
like Peer Gynt or Ulysses or Gulliver
following the script scene by scene
of a surreal Bunel film
unable to shake the void -

each minute each step into oblivion
each night dying each morning rising from the dead
each day an eternity unable to just be
like the world cracking open beneath my feet-

years lost in obsessions
in books in music in movies
in some religious cult
in love & other fantasies
in dreams of how it could have been-

all those careless words
like knives & razorblades
like losing your mind for a little while
crossing over so many lines
like setting lose some beast
gnawing on the bones of others   
like tossing rocks at their fragile shattered souls-

your world can be shattered
with just a few words
some words have power
so said the beloved as she walked away -

like chewing on bits of time
chewing on memories
like chewing on glass-

like having been a cipher
having been a third rater
exposing my soul for such an audience as this
or having no audience at all -

having been an innocent
having been brain-dead-

like dancing in the moonlight
like being set free-

like shoveling a thousand feet of snow
after a thousand snowstorms-

like becoming more obscure
even to ourselves-

like blaming your Guru
like blaming fate
like excusing the inexcusable
like blaming your personal angel
needing always to be right-

like dreaming of being a Guru
a prophet for our time
not son of god or the messiah
another messenger
like a physician for this ailing world
lurching toward chaos
so the Ancient Sage once told me-