Beseech to the Dying Spirit, by J. W. Cassandra

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Beseech to the Dying Spirit
by J. W. Cassandra

Infinity, compelled to
boundless Spirit,
please, open your glorious
let me to embrace in the infinity
flying the beyond-space
to myself
as if the sea –
open your pinions in me,
fly me so –
though for a flash, let me forget
my lame legs…
If you fly me
by pinions opened beyond-space
on the lap of merry timeless EXISTENCE,
let me forget the torments
that I have suffered
submerged to
slough of inclusion-life,
let me believe:
I am one with you, endless,
and you are not dying –
you offer me life…
Silky-mild touch of Eternity
so comforts to me, beneath,
and if you see my flight,
oh, infinite Spirit,
drops of your pride trickle into
wilderness of my soul and
they permeate me with tide
of fairy-light of your splendour.
The inclusion-life may get so
a fairy-like charm-embroidery
on its spot-robe.
My blindness yields to see
only a blear blink without it
of your fairy rays of light;
my impressions forecast
in the limits of the inclusion-life:
if you will be freed of these shackles,
you’ll stay a life-giving brook,
ray of eternity, and you may
penetrate over everything, happily
forgetting your limit:
me, who turned now to you…
Your dying will be my existence, and
my death will be your revival
– what should I wish then, infinite Spirit?
which one’s existence of us is inevitable?
Flying on your pinions
the infinite comforts me beneath,
no bourn
no time
no space
there is only me
in the core of
an infinite EXISTENCE
and you are in me
till I am in you…
The inclusion is decaying, the EXISTENCE
is springing up –
on its fountain, shimmery
are flashing,
and the dying,
falls into the whirling
flood of EXISTENCE;
here the sense is stunned –
does hold me
the Spirit,
or am I its galoer
for a while?
Space and time
fall into each other here,
I will become here
that has been so far
— HE
— me
The dying, is metamorphosing
into radiance:
The splendour is atomizing
the Spirit’s
smile – me
Nothing pains any more
Absolve me! —
I absolve you…
beyond all

Written: 12/01. 2007., by J. W. Cassandra

Transl. 07/06. 2020., by J. W. Cassandra

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J. W. Cassandra

About the Author: J. W. Cassandra

I’m a teacher and a registered author either, at Artisjus as a writer and a poet in Hungary. I love forests, butterflies, flowers.


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