Halva.

[Guest guest]

Halva

It has been said that Jesus is wine and bread

turning into our blood and body.

I give honor to that.

A man and woman

two sides of the same tongue.

I will give honor to that.

It has been said that - Love

is the nectar that it alone tastes.

Oh yes, I give honor to that.

I give honor like halva.

Sweetmeats for my Beloved

who eats my soul

for the hidden food of Herself

and tasting this, She swallows

the bitterness of this gall

and turns it into strong spirit

for the wedding feast.

My longing bows its head to be

the pestle for Her mortise

and I give my honor for that.

Someone said:

Why do you sing,

when the words turn out so crooked?

I replied:

No one is singing here

but the honor of a shattered cup

to be lifted up

as one last drop to your lips.

If you can’t taste the sea

in my broken shell

you have never seen the ocean.

The secret of you is inside my breath.

When I make these scratches on the earth

the wind is writing

not my hand.

We are all waiting for the light

but can’t you see the lightening when it flashes?

I am just a jettison of left over dreams.

Not even worth picking up,

but what the heart says

is the jetsam of a secret treasure

a pearl from a perfect vessel.

It is like invisible seafood

from the spray of a crashing wave.

It is worth further sifting

through the net of the soul.

It is scrap wood on our shoreline

for our own inner fire.

Imagine my head is just above water

and speaking a few words before it drowns.

The seagulls are diving for my tongue

hungry to feed on my last remains.

The wind carries a fragrance from India;

flowers start turning into ears on the cliff top.

The gulls keep dropping

crumbs of bread

and where the leavings fall

new beginnings blossom.

Something is said

that can never be said this way again.

The wind turns the sound into music:

Poems only children can here.

Before I say my last misshapen word

I shall give honor

to the mouth that opens my grave

and turns my song over to the singer.

Before the wind moves the thought speaks,

and before this there is silence.

That silence which can only be heard

in the form of halva.

I give honor to that.

love

eric

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