Prayers

And though the flame-revolutioning moth at length fall
And down the man-hole disappear all,
Disregard the fear of hell
And the last tell tale bell.

Lord, make us disregard
The storm, the quake, the flood;
Give the word
And we the wide void will gird.

O wither the fears and cause hope be a whip, turning
And twining, turning and twining
In the hand’s steel grip like a whirling loop
On star-herds to swoop.

Lift, Lord, eye-balls from the soft pads
And send them forth like twin thrusting rockets
Towards the dazzling whole,
Beyond despair’s low mud-wall.

Deny all, but fill with the magic will
Of those who must carry to its conclusion the call
Of their holy thirst­–
To touch with burning lips the galaxy’s magnetic heart.

O give a go, to the staying power of being in the wilderness opposite
Home–the surrender of the once dearly fought for or bought,
And the ever fresh pursuit,
Of the new lightning thought.

Engender the love of danger, Lord, and speed
To pupils the prospect of the unknown–there, overhead;
The active distrust of the fatigued love word
And the renewed craving and caring for the rose-red truth-bud.

Ever the unmapped ground
Ever the unfamiliar sea and wind sound­–
The conquered terrain shed;
In this timeless quest make mad.

–KESHAV MALIK