Gaze into the battling fire - a whisper in savage red
Gaze into the battling fire - a whisper in savage red,
And into the clouds that travel at the blind and cyclic wind's behest.
When the murmur within starts to weave its frail thread,
Calmly, let your soul rest in arms, as both alchemist and martyr in your quest.
Don't ask if it's allowed, or if it's right,
Nor if the advice of scholars tightens its grip in your palm.
Or if Zeus, Christ, or Vishnu might smile with delight,
As you drift from the world to your infinite realm, so calm.
There, in the cradle of fire and dreams, midst the heart of the blaze,
Your echoes build palaces from whispers of silk, so faintly humming.
Your conscience grows vast, and the desert, thirsty for rains,
Answers, achingly alive, to their call, deeply drumming.
Let thought cross from the sacred to the profane,
Make a hymn of the spirits that voice your inner sanctum’s domain.
For teachings are maps of dreams, not fate,
And in the sea of knowledge, you're a diligently wandering wraith.
The leaf bows in the wind, and the star in immensity,
Just as you, before your own flame, reverently incline.
Don't ask for permission to heed your own words set free,
Their scent is sacrosanct in your temple, no door shall confine or undermine.
Listen to your voice when it sings, when it wails,
When it writhes in your chest like a serpent, or like an angel prevails.
It's more than just a flutter, it's a charter divine,
A personal testament, a chronicle of your path, through the fog and the wormwood entwine.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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