Lake

A clear lake            If the heart were clear

If the heart were transparent            If the heart were pure
With only the purest things:
A mote of dust            A blind boy’s fingers
Freedom
The impression on a pillow made by the head
A telephone ring

A clear lake where pebbles lean on one another
Where I see trees, my face, my face as a child

If the heart were transparent            If the
Heart were clear I would hold it
Like a compass and say
This is the path I will take
This is where my true desires live

A clear lake            But the heart of the
Woman feeling all this
Is not clear as the lake

Is not transparent            Cannot lean on
Her desires as pebbles at rest lean on one another
Does not manage the integrity
For which the heart is made
Does not rearrange itself and become simple

It is not that the heart does not try for integrity
But trying with opposing missions
Is absence of order

If the heart were pure            If the heart were transparent
It could resemble a baby’s eyes
But how might that now be possible

With ghosts of the past
Hiding the gaze like a wall so plastered
With advertisements for old events

You cannot see the brick beneath

If it could only be an impression
On the pillow by the head
Only a telephone ring

But the heart of this woman
Is tied in a knot of missions
Eating at itself to get undone

Desires chewing on desires

2 comments

  1. True…if only it had the innocence it once had, we could easily rely on it. But it’s contaminated too. Beautiful expression. Lovely thought. ✌👍👍:-)

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks Sundaram, for investing time in dissecting this. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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