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Thursday, Jul. 24, 2003 - 3:00 p.m.
Writings From the Twilight of The Mind

Some writers and poets get their best inspiration while sleeping. They have to write as soon as they get up with no interruptions, or they will forget what magic happened while sleeping. It could be a dream, or something else entirely. My good friend Suj is onw of these guys. He finally put down in writing a couple of poems.

Prince of Stone

Father are you satisfied?
Have I become what you wished me to be?
Tied to you by blood and nothing else,
We are strangers who look the same.

I smoke the same brand of cigarettes you did.
What does that say,
that I pay you tribute
through my own destruction?

We speak in dollar amounts,
and engage in a familiar dance,
where I lead,
and you follow with a lie.

My lover says that I am cold and distant,
How can I explain that
he who has not known warmth
can never provide it.

Strength, honour, duty.
I have learned these lessons well.
I am a prince of stone
ready to inherit your kingdom of rubble.

Father, are you satisfied?
Have I become what you wished me to be?
Or do you sometimes feel crushed
under the weight of what you have created?


Last Night I Watched

Last night
I watched as you slept,
And fell in love with the
rise and fall of your chest
in the summer moonlight,
And in the sound of your breath
rushing in my ear,
I heard the answers
to all the questions
I had ever asked.

And if I wore
the saffron robes,
I would gladly turn them in
and be called traitor,
sentenced to walk
the burnt plains
of the Godless,
with only your breath
to sustain me.

And I would tell
the wandering mendicants
that I need not their
quest for enlightenment,
For She lies next to me,
And that I need not
seek their answers,
For I hear the truth
in the rhythm of Her breath
as she sleeps.

The thing is, Suj doesn't believe that She exists. Both of these poems are very telling.

1 scrawls at the end of this hall

The look:
The feel:
The taste:
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