Poetry

You were still thinking.
Thinking beyond thoughts―
the void, the space, the time.

A crush of relics was
piling up. Bloodshed and poverty
at hands, you do not want to talk.

The challenge of being or isness
persists. I go back to the
culture of ancient theology to
understand the divine arithmetic.

The numbers were increasing,
of gods, godmen and crimes.
No sermons. The autumn
will bring down the foliage―
green, red, brown
to yellow.