Two Worlds

One world—
woven in dream’s own pattern,
where I search for myself,
where all connection
is severed,
where the mind may plough fields
beneath the unstoppable speed of light,
and joy may rest,
content to spend its hours in love,
where none demand,
where idleness itself becomes a festival,
and the heart goes wandering—
astonished,
carried by waves
through paths Platonic,
with an imagined, furious haste.
 
And yet—
a merciless morning returns the body,
back to society’s narrow banks,
to the world where ties are cut,
where the crossing from here to there
remains forever unwalked,
and my unhappy heart
longs for the passage
that cannot be crossed.
 
Here there is no peace,
no certainty of desire fulfilled;
yet sorrow abides,
yet fever and wounds remain,
while forgetful mind is slain.
Again and again it seeks escape,
leaving the body behind,
yearning to travel elsewhere,
bearing only the free unconscious mind,
where eternal spring resides,
where joy of life
might be as I have dreamed it,
on an isle of dream,
where mind remains
though body is sundered.
 
And here—
only the heartless city-life,
its hatred, sweat,
its waste of blood,
its doubts and its fears,
and a household steeped
in renunciation.