I am the irreverent
user of a world
that some
call God’s creation
while many
others call
volcanoes’
bread,
a glittery,
blue wonder I can’t drill through
with my
inquisitive eye
although I
try
hard
and long
and tireless
You see,
between me
and that layer
of the universe
that some
call
music of
spheres
and I call
crazy dance
of atoms,
there is my
mind,
and my senses,
and my
curious eye
The Maker
left word:
Use that
wonder as is,
without
questioning,
without
struggling
to cut open
its skin
because if
you do that
you’ll find
another skin
underneath,
and then
another skin
under the
skin
you just
cut
The secret
is too deep,
The secret
is too thick
I can’t settle
though
on being
just a quiet user
of a heaven
created for
me
not as a
reward
but as a commodity,
I must
crack open
the
heaven’s windows,
see what
lies out there
behind the deceiving
horizon
You see,
all these
happen
because I’m
just a gardener
planting
the Ignorance flowers
in the
zesty soil
of the
garden of knowledge
bestowed on
me
to enjoy
the beauty
and inhale
the scent
of my own
devious flowers