Perfectly Imperfect

Perfectly imperfect


No sound at all
it is darker here
and chill is holding me in its grasp
almost never to let go of me.

Where am I?
And where is that place
where I once was
somewhere between then and now?
How will I know?

I am frightened
I did not know that I could feel this way,
but when I see now
how my wings are broken... 

Was I not perfect then
in my eternal longing
to become
what I perhaps can never be?

Utter loneliness is overtaking me
still no sound is heard
only my heart beating.

I feel my spirit leaving me
that immaculate reflection of you,
while whispering my sacred vow.

My form is dissolving
in this dark sanctuary around me,
but then I can hear your voice - at last...


"Even angels have to run their course,
for sacredness is in your wings
but your essential flight
is the solitary one."

Keeper

Broad and immaculate

I rest here

with my whole body,

my woman's body

moulded from labour pains,

warm primal clay,

a keeper kiln-fired

in the furnace of my existence.

Behind closed eyes

I see them come and go again

the women, the children,

and the lost

those who would nestle

between my breasts,

drown themselves in my flesh,

or shed their tears

in the bowl of my lap.

Men, boys, young gods

small of hip

or rough-hewn as I am

though hewn from granite

all the same.

Where is the one

who is without sorrow?

 This is why I console all those

who seek my consolation.

Kahlil Gibran on Talking

Kahlil Gibran ~ Self-portret

You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts;

And when you can no longer dwell in the solitude of your heart you live in your lips, and sound is a diversion and a pastime.

And in much of your talking, thinking is half murdered.

For thought is a bird of space, that in a cage of words may indeed unfold its wings but cannot fly.

There are those among you who seek the talkative through fear of being alone.

The silence of aloneness reveals to their eyes their naked selves and they would escape.

And there are those who talk, and without knowledge or forethought reveal a truth which they themselves do not understand.

And there are those who have the truth within them, but they tell it not in words.

In the bosom of such as these the spirit dwells in rhythmic silence.

When you meet your friend on the roadside or in the market place, let the spirit in you move your lips and direct your tongue.

Let the voice within your voice speak to the ear of his ear;

For his soul will keep the truth of your heart as the taste of the wine is remembered

When the colour is forgotten and the vessel is no more.

Unicorn

Unicorn

I am my secret self
I am the secret wood
I am the seen and the unseen things
the heard and the never heard.

If you wish to conquer me
(and I know you do)
four trials you must go through:
the quest, the chase, the capture,
and the taming too.

You, my questing knight
with your helmet and lance
glorious deeds will not win me
you have not a chance.

You, my eager hunter
following my trail
your arrows will fall from the air
you will not prevail.

I am a legend
I am a fable
I am your unrequited longing
for the sweet impossible.

For no impossibility
is sweeter than mine
excepting but one
that is the sweet divine.

Only pure love will win me
for only pure love is in me.

Dear lady, most chaste of womankind
I lay my tamed head upon your seated skirt
with all the love within me.

Tapestry The Lady and the Unicorn, 15th century, Musée du Moyen-Age, Cluny, Paris,