Dreamlike, My Beloved

Between physics and God lie seven twists—
and I have never stopped to think
about choosing for the sake of goodness.
Conflict and charity rule side by side,
while I lived in careless ease,
a slave to my own nerves,
my spine still upright.
 
In the worst of times,
there is always a cage to be found
for the lonely traveller.
Science was the wrong road for me;
better to borrow justice
from a benevolent God—
and move with ease
from love to renunciation.
 
For at the very beginning,
there is no one,
save the living body of adaptation.
Nature does not dwell
in the depths of anyone’s eyes.
A woman—painted on a beachside canvas—
forgets the grief of emptiness
in her graceful unfolding.
 
Since the dawn of time,
minds have been spread like nets of hatred
across stagnant ponds.
Sunlight devoured,
the horizon etched on open plains—
some die,
some stay in the household.
 
As Kalidasa once hung from a branch,
I too hang in the web of dreams.
This strange labour of imagination—
is it love for a dream-world,
or for an illusion?
 
Our logical minds
halt the circulation of blood.
Better that revolution comes at dawn,
with the rooster’s call,
than to reason my way
into war, riot,
or idle sleep.
 
Nonviolence—
that straight path—
is not mine.
Where the soil must be fought for,
love becomes fierce,
and resolve holds the rudder.
 
Newton’s third law—
unnecessary here.
The wise have mistaken feeling
for ignorance.
 
And with the same deep devotion
with which I have pursued learning,
my patience of heart falters.
I burn seven man-loads of light—
and sleep descends.
 
This love—
unknown, unfamiliar, dreamlike—
is the ordinary life of gain and loss.
If my patience breaks,
can I accept it?
The pride of knowledge—
the unnecessary beloved—
and the farm that comes with her.