An ode to Pessoa

(written in the month of freedom of 2017)

i know not what a ode is

but is something that my master will appreciate

i do him wrong to say so but

he bids to say as it feels

and not to think

most importantly not to think

i don’t metre it, i do not care to rhyme it

i don’t even know what it means

för i am a natural human animal

sometimes getting it right sometimes wrong

writing comes to me to keys and to screen together and

it is hard to separate any from anything else

like a hiccup it arises in my belly transfiguring into a sense

that is displayed radiantly on in much brightness on this dumb screen almost by magic

of what right i have to call it dumb for so much time i spend with it

what would i be without it

for sure not even the servant would have known its master if not for it

to find a soul that said what you would have said

isn’t it a wonder that he wrote and i ode

its like a dream you won’t understand

where to begin when to end

staring at the keys words jumble and sometimes mumble

like a lullaby to wake up a sleeping monk

time i know is my enemy and i ran race it with everytime

a sound a click distracts my whole countenance

i run after it madly to capture its essence

like a bee hovering on a flower

dancing its customary dance bidding it show the way

the sweet smell the sweet nectar numbs me

i learn to taste i learn to smell

to make it second nature as breathing is

for a paradise my heart yearns

not there not here but everywhere and nowhere

i assert and i immediately contradict

like fossilised wood is burned to burn the wood

burning stars i try to feel sometimes

a lot of light comes but not the correct light

beating heart it feels like at the end and at the start too

of a dream i must talk and to get to that

i have no means but some images, some fragments

i marvel at motion picture for it has an start and an end and it flows too

when my recollection be like it i yearn to see

my ear drums and i hear a pi-pi-pi

it bids me to go on, it bids me to stay

i stop and i think, the master gives a long hard stare

i know the time has come, to unveil the veil?

like riddles i write to quiz the brains

for those who seek the answer will come

is it joy, is it sorrow i ask?

nothing but grappling everything is

to know not what may come next

to be on the edge, for ever it may last

Amen and an exclamation mark

but reproachable time always stands in the way

i will to make amends, to be friendly to it too

for love thy enemy is the only command!