"On the Origin of Black Holes
and the Selfish Mind"
@ September, 2006
When the heart stops
(as the enormous shafts of light
will sweep across the mind,
illuminating life, not sleep)
then I will know you,
of rusty structures, clangy crashes
of the subtly vain.
in and out of the niches of memory,
Some undisturbed, some projecting forward,
some dead and covered in plastic,
some eager that perhaps they'll live again
Time cheats the best sepulcher
with a tiny element of rot; pictures drift like snow,
the snow of death.
Images of lost,
lost lovers, lost unknowns,
friends and teachers (some spectacularly lost)
appear distorted, hazy on the edges -
they pass by columns, not in haste at all.
The obelisk of time has patience,
its finite blocks define oblivion
in sadness of detail
as memory falls silent.
Words fail, achievements falter...
And only shafts of light unmentionable, vast,
parade as slow flight of birds,
wings spread, innumerable.
And as the heart stops taking medicine, it can't go further,
it cannot serve itself, it cannot love,
It dies, as nailed to the cross,
And lives again.
There is a galaxy that wants to hug you
with furry arms of stars, with
throbbing heart of singularity,
so heavy that you can not lift its burden.
- but it can suddenly lift yours, and does...
As their Creator, who died on a cross
while weighted down by the multitude of sins -
the stars, too, die -
inside their own radius, collapsing
but passing into further element,
as they shed light unseen,
progressing through the memories
and spiritual lives,
in spiritual dimension, realm of poets,
they give us dreams.
Next time you think of Universe,
remember that you can see it brightly lit,
with striding shafts of light
from black holes, singularities -
which die and live again.
The void is
@2006, Avi Abrams