Too much like death

Too much like death                                                                        

You lived in silence.  I can’t abide it. 

Too much like death.  Even while

lying motionless and mute in the casket

You’ve so lovingly fashioned for me,

my mind is stubbornly shouting blasphemies,

roaming the known parameters.

I climbed in willingly enough. 

Made myself comfortable. 

I don’t regret it.  But, this protracted interment   

is as stylized and boring as any funeral ever was

and still I haven’t the courage

to clamp down the lid long enough

for You to sink the nails. 

You came not to teach but to awaken.

Lucky for me – because I never seem to learn.

And, instead of holding on to Your damaan,

being dragged pell-mell into the Infinite-Eternal,
I hold tightly to the ragged shirttail

of this wanton, roaring world; the sad

and flustered illusion of my false self.

O child of God, hold your tongue and let

Meher’s silence become your last triumphant shout.