Change is in the air and a prayer of the dead

The weather has turned, the light has changed, autumn is upon us and with it all sorts of yearnings and flights of imagination. This time of year, year in and out, takes me into questions of existence; why do we exist? What is the purpose of my life? 


It invariably always takes me to the question of the beyond, its mystery but also its revelations. Three years ago I wrote this poem, based on a real experience of loss but also as a metaphor of the cycle of creation and destruction of life. Here it goes. 

my heart is on fire

for my weenie boy died

my inner crucible is on fire

for her little boy died

let us guard the sacred fire

cleanse and rekindle the dead

our boys shall dance the fire-dance

our boys shall meet in the fire-ball

let us race towards the destruction of our anguish

and walk towards illumination

greet the fire

from high above and from deep below

red earthen mud

let us place that little seed

in a cool dark place

to rest

and perhaps it may grow

Shall we ever meet again?