I'll start then...
ETERNAL PAGEANT
The aroma of Sunday’s roast
wafting through the lazy house,
Alive with the laboured noises
of television and softly snoring men.
The flour on your hands
as you lovingly knead the dough
Into ceremonial loaves of bread.
“The Leaves Of Grass” held dreamily
in your loving embrace.
The smell of blueberries
pounding through the air
As you walk in the morning dampness,
mourning the loss for which you search.
The decay of death,
which lies dying just outside your reach.
The pulling tug of the suckling babe
wrapped within the unsure arms
Of a first time mom,
be it human or be it swine.
The scrapped knee of the hapless child
Learning for the first time how to fall
from his new red bike.
These are the memories,
the knowledge pools shared by one and all.
All angels with wings beneath the mire of Maya’s maze.
All copulating creatures
with the awakening heart
beating within a dreamy haze.
Be it elegant diva,
or heroin addicted body selling street urchin,
Or cancer’s latest victim,
or the womb’s newest occupant.
Be it East Indian Guru,
or wheelchair bound paraplegic cripple,
Or death row murderous inmates,
Or potent construction crew fathers,
or sufi dancing dreamers:
We all know the pain of childbirth,
the pain of dying,
The loss of love,
The birth of bliss.
The birth of bliss
…THE BIRTH OF BLISS.