Saturday, July 19, 2014

Bleakness and Bliss

Bleakness and Bliss
“Me and my loneliness…” a sister once wrote,
Phrasing her thoughts in the words that I quote.
They struck me, on reading. They stay with me still.
I try, with my verses, that vacuum, to fill…

Gotama the Buddha did methods devise
To merge with the silence, in ways that are wise.
And yet, we are lonely – and emptiness dread.
We try to be busy – until we are dead.

“Me and my loneliness…” a sister had written,
Expressing her mood in a manner unbidden.
She wrote this as prose – but the best of my verse
Is bested, by far, by those syllables terse.
If “Who is this sister?” is a question you ask,
Her privacy, then, with a riddle, I’ll mask.
Rhythm – her name.  In the heart of the atom,
She probes.  (“It’s for knowledge…” said Ava to Adam.)

All of our science and all of our art,
My verses of nuance, resembling a fart,
All in their total are bupkis to this –                               \1
“Me and my loneliness…” – bleakness and bliss...

Today, to the reader, I’m writing again.
But why I am writing, I cannot explain.
You with your loneliness, I with what’s mine…
In the eyes of a puppy, the essence divine…
2014 July 16th, Wed.
(last stanza added July 19th)
Brooklyn, New York

1 bupkis:  nothing, worthless – a word, probably of
Yiddish origin, used by New Yorkers and others; also
spelled bupkus, bupkes, bubkes.

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