Prince, sulk beneath a hooded light,
When I say this joke however mean,
I truly do mean in stronger word,
That we’ll in charms have seen,
A misery a soul equipped to laugh,
Yet he would not in sight bestow;
A joke remains so, unseen, unheard;
Like a key, poking that dark hole,
Poking and turning, nudge and feel;
Resistance borne from persistence none,
He’ll let me in and then joke is none,
How sweet is the irony, the cheers!
Unlock when no lock is nigh;
Unlock.
But, no, sanity is my weakest noun,
Indeed, as you have said, I am most sane.
The most angelic and free, a God-enduring,
I forbid all evil mine eyes cross,
I kiss the cross, the Qur’an, the scrolls!
Throw yourself into a sea of words God
Pronounces so vividly for y’endure!
That storm of pages strikes so wound a chasm,
Now is knowing no more, thinking raptured part,
Tis this irony that I speak of,
Tis comedy till no laugh is sought no more,
Though this we call a world, given birth a reason
Makes devoid of laughter at all things wry,
And still the comedic tale remains!
The stage remains open. The curtains fall, yes;
But the act continues. On the streets, at sea. Well?
So-

Unfortunately, he was sectioned soon after.

Category:
Avant-garde, Mystical, Poetry, Works
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