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 asking questions,
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 onto 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.