I could have been a patient guest
Waiting for the woman in the red sari
To bring her ivory cup of warm tea.
I might have simply leaned on her balcony
And watched the sky turn from pearl gray to pale rose
If I could have rested, settling for no
More than the loom of monsoon beginning
To bead its earth-thread carpet, my body
Safely curled into a leaf, thirsty for rain.
But instead I was restless, dizzy with striving,
And so spiraled away wheeling across time,
Struggling, grasping in the mesh of every challenge
I went to Burma, walked to Tibet,
Lost my money in Ceylon, and a wife somewhere,
Found another, raised a family, fell in love again.
I drank from my cupped hands, shaking with desire
Sorrow followed falling to earth, to rivers.
I was about to drown --- too much weight to swim.
Something stirred, waking my bones.
First I saw the bracelet, then a haze of hand
Bent towards me, an amber blur, steaming ivory.
Probably I wandered countless mazes,
Followed stars, tunnels, journeys without end
Before I reached out to accept the ladie's cup of tea
There was a king I lived with once
Not the roommate kind with matching socks
But a playmate, kind and radiant
In whose royal games I learned and marveled.
And he was so slippery with time
That he could wait to come awake
While others danced like pigmies
Enraptured around his fire. And dreams
That had ancient fathers lived in us.
His laughter seemed to have shattered
The world, warmth scattered opposition.
He was a master of games, some mischievous.
I longed for his mad miracle, to be
Initiated in some self upheaval and
victimless crime.
But, alas, his eyes were failing,
His work was done as mine began.
Once indignantly he turned to me
And asked, "Why are you still there
in my shadow? I have given you
The key. The door, a llittle tricky,
Opens from within. Go out from here!"
And I answered him, "The world is
So deep and the waves have
Overwhelmed me. Why am I not enough?"
Again he admonished me. "I've been
Yours, compassionately yours, for
Ages and my cycle is done. And my
Only inspiration is easeful death,
An undisturbing friend."
And I, confused, asked him longingly,
"How can you leave us your unfinished
creation? How will you leave us?"
"By your own hand," he answered.
"It is time for you to kill me. And go
Out from this place, grieve, then rejoice."
Meyers' previous works include the novels The Journey That Never Was Made, Alms For Oblivion, Under Indian Skies, and A Maze For Infidels . Prolific in all genres, his short stories, essays and his plays include The Rivers of Babylon, Dark Rituals, and Stranger in an Unkosher Land . Meyers' poetry has appeared in numerous journals and anthologies. Currently he teaches English at City College of San Francisco.
"Above all, Meyers' spiritual oddessy sings through his imagery with a strong poetic voice!"
-Ramón Sender Barayón
The Ghandharva Press 3654A 20th Street San Francisco, CA 94110 ISBN 1-882260-14-7 $12.50
