SCENT

It is this Embodiment that knows everything
for when I hang my head in Prayer—

I look as though I don’t “care”

but you see I am Dying from life,
the way a Rose hangs its neck
to return….

Its body is an instrument,
and when the Flower sings—her voice is named Fragrance…

I live and die this way
making Honey with the sweat of my skin.

Some believe flowers always emit scent;
but this is not true,
when They Long—they begin to Sing,
with or without the hand of wind.

It is the Voice of their body that enters…

Like them, I do not give my love to everyone

I love because I cannot Help it
and in this state, cherubs swarm—
like bees driven to the Center.

In life, many love in Sweet Moss
with feet entangled in Heavenly Musk;
intoxicated by Desires roped around their neck (like vines)—
choosing to live in bondage without knowing.

But those who bend like Light
never suffer

Indifferent to vanity of Sun;
as life recoils—they withdraw with it

like Flowers, do not exist to attract humans;
life and death is same as living…

Flowers do not battle in Confusion
for they do not exist for anything

even at their final hour
there is no hour, night or day

there is Intoxication in everything.