The Grail of Simply Being

Revealing my soul as a history,
In x-ray, of mental states,
Ravishes some of the mystery
Of this tragico-comic mask
Nicknamed identity.

Now, what is my proper task
In this quixotic quest
If ever I hope to grasp
The grail of simply being?

Only the language of silence
Expresses the essence of tombs,
As only nakedness clothes
The pageantry from wombs.

Why, seated in these caves,
Gouged from anarchic stone,
Transfixed of gaze upon
Chiaroscuroed walls,
Does scarcely one awake
To slay the architect
And befriend
The aloneness of death?

– Sitaram (4/26/2003)


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