"Winter-night"

For A.

Winter-night holds reign atop the plateau
A realm of stagnation and frozen thought
Years, that turn into years, and slow time
In the great desert of coldening night

It would take the memory of fire to open the shut eye
It would take the shifting of a stilled soul to raise the heat
Something deep down and long old, rising to the fore
Found once again, in the lightless abyss of infinite mind

From a stirring to a rumbling to the rupturing of planets
Light trumpeted forth, from the void, in a parade of wonder and will
The webs of sleep cleared away; the ice burned away
Such that there stood, in golden imperium: Life revived

"what little I have learnt of peace"

what little I have learnt of peace

from the wreckages of my past

tells me that even this pain
shall in time also pass

M.M.

"Run away"

Run away. Run away to the far-off places
To keep away loneliness and fill empty spaces
Somewhere distant, inside the approaching thunderstorm
To regenerate, recultivate; to restore your former form

Depression (Iteration 5)

You see, I just don't think I am built for this
Something about the stitching of my atoms
Doesn't seem to fit right, in the grand tapestry
I am of a way that perplexes even myself
A way that crisscrosses over itself in a peculiar
Manner; contradicting itself, redefining itself
And the voice, inside the void, made of obsidian walls
It does not stop—incessant burrowing and twisting
Feelings that come on like gravitational waves

And how is a universe supposed to exist inside one
Much greater than himself? Or to exist amongst the
Hundreds of others that he comes across?
The World that crashes into worlds and leads to a
caustic reverberation that shatters the glass of being

One—it is the vile curse of One. One is the sole
pole that flies the flag of comprehension, which itself
misleads itself in the air, in the sky, in the flight of I

What for is the turning of the mind unyielding?
I think we are things of no mass, of no direction
I think that it is that we think far too much
I try and I think I try too much; a kindling much
too ambitious and much too hopeful of its end

M.M.

At some point during the turn of the world
I lost my voice, the breath of fire that I had inhaled
and exhaled as naturally as the beating of my mercurial
heart. Once I would call to the winds of future and smile at
their response. But somehow I forgot how to sing the
song, the song that I taught myself in the dark, in the void,
in the infinite pressure of my own unquiet mind. Bravery,
ambition, defiance, Promethean will: all these, they were
my voice, my song. But now lost somewhere, along the
revolutions of the world, along the incessant pacing of life.

M.M.

From nothing we came

From nothing we came, to nothing we shall return
Or so they say
But what of the lightning and fire of the in-between
What of the immensity of mind, the infinity of possibility?
The labyrinthine perplexity of the love that expands us?
We are the everything in the nothingness of the universe

M.M.

The Physics of Love

The linearity of time has never eased
the allure of tracing the lines upon her face.
The collision of particles, and the resultant magic,
has always paled in comparison to the magic
that occurs when gazing into her pensive eyes.
These physics, running amok inside of me,
are like petulant children in a stellar nursery.
I was first moved by the law of gravity
that she herself wrote, that she herself commands.
Her pull and her gathering of all things along her vector
has flung me from one corner of the cosmos to the other.
These physics of love, drunk on their own principles.
A postulate that I found myself fallen in, most helplessly.
A scientist enthralled by the very nature of her existence
and all its mysteries – by the theory that she is everything.

M.M.

"You know just what you are"

You know just what you are
Red dragon sleeping a thousand-year sleep
Dreaming of cosmos and the revolutions of time

I awake from a slumber of darkness and undeath
To dwell once more in the wildfires of starlight
I stand before moribund stars and allow myself to burn
Carving multiversal symbols into my coruscating flesh

Remember just what you are
A Son of the Sun, an undying flame amidst the void
Shining nexus of thought and action
A body of unfettered Will, of uncaged Love

In a world of fear and loneliness, alone the monolith has stood
A monument of shining Individualism and self-determination
A pillar atop the highest peak of the Self
Out in the far reaches of oceanic turmoil

I have waited half a life, a life alone
To rise from the tar pits of my own making
To emerge as a field of stars, an idio-galaxy
Unleashed upon the frailness of my former being
To damn the fear and loneliness of yester-I
To the realm of the distant, forgotten void

M.M.

"Not quite the effacement of face"

Not quite the effacement of face
But the eroding of a once-weathered man
Stepping from pebble to mountain
From mountain to tetherless aether
Slipping through the masterwork of time
Its machinery and its machinations
Not quite here; not quite there
But ever present ...much too present...

M.M.

Seasons

Half-dreaming—

of the unending turning of all things

Summer has been slipping away

taking my solidity with it

What warmth and the caress of her I had

is stolen, in the turning of the axis

Desire—the fire, lit by each penultimate season

And extinguished at the end of it

Everything I am is toppled again and again

in the unabating change of time

Once the affection of her heart

the next, lost in the decay of autumn

I am perfected—for me, for her—

but crumble and desiccate at the end of summer

The cycle is unbearable

The wheel—the clock, revolves, as it always has

As it has since the first flutter of butterflies

since the surety of what she means to me was realized

***

The seasons are a paradox: They are at once the harbingers of that which is new and nascent; and that which never changes, never dissipates.

M.M.