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

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