A poem-prose by: Ben Dunk. 1989.

 

REALIZATION

 

Saith the Lord of the Universe: “Liken my existence to the hourly clock chiming and, the hands twirling forever!”.

 

………and then it came:

the dreadful sword of life’s toil,

the crashing cymbal of every orchestrated schedule,

on to the ground of popular beliefs.

Lo, the spirit moves along the tortuous path,

and the trial of God’s children becomes the inspiration for emulation.

 

Ideas that flock to mind are but the valiant try of thinkers who work

through this experience called life,

but it is just survival and no more: exaggerating or subtracting the precarious

foothold, in an effort to allay the onslaught of pernicious age.

 

Remembering, thrice around the world is no substitute for palpitating passion

from a partner of love.