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.