The Light Prism (Dedicated To Rumi) Poem by John Dowdall

I feel sullen and tired in this world of men,

I have fallen in to a deep dark chamber.

I wish to go to where I don't exist again,

through the time of my birth, back to

the timeless void of home, I don't exist

now, I have already gone back alone.



Nothing exists. No mind, No words, No ideologies,

No hegemony, No tears. I am home.



I stand in awe of the prism of light,

its astounding symmetry, its

seven colors gleam clear and bright,

only a thief can look on without sight,

I may be chastised severely for this flight,

but to look upon it, without ego, is the

epitome of all that I could ever be.



Nothing exists. No life, No nature, No suns,

No galaxies, No universe. I am home.



I feel like a poet without a quill or a

painter without a brush, who can render the

invisible scene straight onto the human heart.

I could abide here forever among the

densely signified trees and gleaming symbolic streams

of manifest love, abundant provision

for a joyful being, although I need for nothing.



Nothing exists. No boundaries, No bonds, No chains,

No famine, No death. I am home.



This joyous existence outside the self is wonderful,

but I can dwell here no longer,

I must return through the time of my birth

and back to my own place in space time.

I suddenly awake and smell a strange flower eons away,

I have returned to the light prison to there abide,

until all self-hood, fear and frailty subside.



Everything exists. No completion, No timelessness,

No escape from being coined by words.

I am far from home once more.