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Thursday

THE OFFERING

The Sufis say
that the Poet-Saint
is always in Love.

In Love with the Perfection
which She never meets.

In Love with the Divine
that emanates Justice even in
a Worthless Criminal.

In Love with Love with itself.

In Love with a Lover that denies Her
everything: but Love.

I have Fallen in Love
in this way.

I have Fallen in Love with Death
and Dying.

I would Give myself to this very Thing
(the only thing) that could bring me to Justice
with my very Body—

the Body that is the very Limitation
of Loving through Being.

I have Fallen in Love in this way.

I have Fallen completely this way.

I have Fallen to pieces and I die for my Beloved.

I die the way a Flower dwells in the Ecstasy
of its own Death.

They say that the Poet-Saint always has a Lover,
seemingly one for every occasion:

When She eats Breakfast—she is in Love.
When She wakes up—she is in Love.
Wherever She dwells—she is in Love.

And I am in Love in this way.

I am in Love in every way.

I wait for my Death because I Love her this way.

She has rid me of all fear of Living.
She has rid me of all troubles of Survival.
She has rid me of all the transparencies

that Karma hides within our Body.

Oh—speaking of Karma,
She is like a Jealous Lover.

Karma is the length that stands between us.

She puts her arms between to tell us we shall never meet.
She makes our distance seems so near;
and our nearness so far away.

She is Cruel in her jealousy
for she knows that when we Love
we do not do so with Karma…

we do not Love with Differences
we do not Love trapped in a Body
we do not Love caught in Time
we do not Love conditioned by Religion or Morality

we love with freedom from Karma
and that is why Karma is a Jealous Lover.

They say that the Poet-Saint writes letters
to her Beloved without ever meeting Her.

I write my Poems in this way

I write to my Lover

because I Love Her.

Her Beauty is in my words.

My words, I hope would make others Weep.

For this is how I feel when I see her.

Her Beauty makes me Die;
makes me Weep

and makes me Understand all the Imperfections
that stand between the Poet and the Words

Words that pour the Feelings I have for Her
like Milk filled with completion

even before touched

by the nearness of her Lips.

—

Also see: BELOVED