I Opened My Vein To Viridian Shadows

~ a poem of contentious communion ~

Image by Analiseart on Pixabay

Well, God,

we part ways

yet again. You head back

towards a black cube

— though I have to say, in the midst of a desert

I like the matte obsidian of it —

and I, turning right, then left

past last summer’s bright swimming pool,

down a steep dogwood-lined path go towards

still, silent lake waters and then the woods —

coral cathedrals full of jasper shadows, carnelian rustlings.

Beyond the shadow of your house,

must lie level sands, then small humps of dunes,

shifting between contour

— small surcease for a thirst-crazed lizard —

and flatness. Then pubescent dunes,

more dunes, and loftier ones

full of desert sounds,

reverent tunnels that echo your name

over and over again.

How grand that must sound!

And all ages of stars, your children, calling

to each other, pulsating in indigo night skies of the desert

How sharp the air,

crystalline essence of the Hajj! I envy you

your expanses full of no doubt, divine signs.

Dear God, down by my woods

which grant me serenity in snatches, there were times

when I blundered and fell

with pain in my gut,

pain that came from you and mankind

and myself I fell,

and the only open arms I found were

sometimes barren limbs of larches or maples;

Sometimes holy green oaks and junipers held me close.

And I opened my vein to viridian shadows in a despair of sorts,

waited for a god, any god, to come my way.

Then one day, I found your pulse,

even as my roots stood deeply intertwined

with the compassion that bloomed in those woods.

Between you and musky roots I was graced with ephemeral completeness.

That was not the first of many times we would meet. And part.

And meet again.

Tell me, God,

If I visit your splendiferous kingdom of wind-swept crescents,

will you confide why you spoke to prophets in a desert?

And if I ask,

will you tell me why beings such as us

are destined to be weeds in your garden,

bringers of sorrow to each other?

Can you fill me up with absence of loneliness?

Can you?

Which brings me to the question:

Where do you spend more time —

Up there in stellar canopies ensconced,

Or within inviolate black mansion mysteries?

I, as millions around me, am all too

Steeped in fragmentation’s marinade.

Tell me, O Omnipresent One,

If you are everywhere at once when do you pull yourself together?

Dear God, you of course, must know

when we will meet again, as I wait in thralldom.

I feel no anxiety, no terrors of abandonment.

We will meet again to lock horns

though your might is mightier

than any notion of might might be.

You in your omniscient wisdom

might recall that on a day of despair,

in the woods of confined innocence,

I opened my vein to you

Goodbye dear God,

till we meet again,

out there in wide

open spaces

Farida Haque

Multimedia artist, writer, poet. ‘Celebrating other lives, I am a sparrow in the shadow of a rosebush...’ faridahaque@gmail.com

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