rain
I have given you
rain flooding in rivulets
through fallen leaves
over clean pebbles
what more do you want?
I have given you
the knife that your father
used to slice his belly
that day in the rain
what more do you want?
I have given you
bird's feet splashing
wet wings drumming
trees split by thunder
what more, what more?
I have given you
a dry shelter
under dry leaves
and dry grass
curled and trembling
what more?
for that bright object
the sunlight
that distant thought
use the knife
rain flooding in rivulets
through fallen leaves
over clean pebbles
what more do you want?
I have given you
the knife that your father
used to slice his belly
that day in the rain
what more do you want?
I have given you
bird's feet splashing
wet wings drumming
trees split by thunder
what more, what more?
I have given you
a dry shelter
under dry leaves
and dry grass
curled and trembling
what more?
for that bright object
the sunlight
that distant thought
use the knife
posted by Yes at 5:00 PM
2 Comments:
author's note:
please do not take this as a call to suicide. Nor did my dad kill himself, although he was depressed.
I think we both knew that suicide only leads to another life where we are tortured by REGRET, which can be worse than what we left behind. Perhaps the knife means something less literal.
wow. I find many layers here. The way you use the rain is inspired. I read the rain as a wonderful description of a sorrowful time, a dreary, stormy time. And yet sometimes the most amazing things happen to us during those storms in our lives, like "the trees split by thunder". Also, in those times we may appreciate some simple beautiful things we wouldn't have otherwise, "bird's feet splashing". Still, it is a storm.
One very interesting thing I find about this poem is the voice that has given all these things. The logic of this voice is almost incomprehensible. It has given us this knife, the instrument with which our father killed himself, as though that would be something we would be happy to possess. And not too mention all of this rain. And yet, I often feel that way about the logic of the source of our world. It has given us so much beauty, and at the same time so much misery, and given it as a tremendous gift. I feel that this may make much more sense on higher levels of consciousness. In fact, I pray that it does.
And finally, for the voice that answers the question. What more could we ask? Make it stop raining.
This voice, from the depths of the storm, is true to that place. From there it can seem like the only hope is to leave this life. But the most beautiful aspect of the sunlit times is that from there, the storm was all worth it. And the most beautiful thing about storms is that they can't last forever.
This is a very thought provoking, well crafted poem. Thank you for sharing it.
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