Sultan Schahriar
D
Daniel Brick
0
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He has never known desire, never felt
that magnetic pull toward another being
to close the gap that divides people,
that confines us all to our spheres of aloneness,
the arid places without fruit or fragrance,
where SELF grows steadily weaker and dimmer
until some warped brain mechanism compensates
by severing the heart from its fulfillment, the body
from its pleasures, the soul from its renewal.
Such is our estate: a barren ruined treasure chamber,
a temple deserted by its gods, a mountain range
whose summit collapses into the caldera each time
it grows large enough to flash into spontaneous life.
But alone in the night Scheherazade rehearses her next story.
Bu şiiri puanla
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