When the undertakers become the undertaken
and pall bearers are palled
like dead cockroaches by restless ants
to shadowless silhouettes and Eden of hell
can we then prepare our heartless hearts
to meet the deep hearts of the unprepared
and the large eyes of the eyeless
in the drama of the vanished?
When our vanished paths become obscure
like window panes mistladen
and we move on leaves and the wind
like wandering homeless ghosts;
and we burn our dead love
like dead fleshless pigeon
in the incinerators of totemic doubts
to resurrect affections wasted
like rain in bottomless forests
who will clear our mouldered paths
for smooth routes to hell?
who will exhume our burnt affairs
and direct us to feral pulpits
and scarlet wedlock?
When all our laughters and lights
are seized and arraigned
like unpardonable felons
for fictitious plots, laughable attempts
and are awarded death sentences
where do we secure fresh nourishing laughters
to our laughless faces, famished souls?
who carries absolving lanterns
to our fossiled faces
and demystify our frightening lights?
who indicts and try these brutal shades