The tomb I haunt

The tomb I haunt

I choose, in this duplicitous realm
having no choice, this or that,

vacillating between polarities
when there is really only one -

a last grave stab at annihilation
or continue this charade indefinitely.

All else is the slapdash arranging
of chairs on the upending deck.

I queue up in the darshan line,
enter the tomb-shrine

where I would soon forfeit myself, my life
but always am I roughly hauled to my feet

unaccepted; turned away;
escorted back down that lonely, holy hill.

My Lord exists eternally.
The tomb I haunt is my own.

O child of God, no choice but one choice;
it's time of arrival is beyond your grasp.