Secret of the Sun

There is nothing surprising about the sun.
It comes, brightens this dark side of the earth,
and leaves, just as it has for a million years.
And while it still burns even when it is night,
and while it goes on to unlock the beauty
of a flower, like a million others I was blind
to its total simplicity and predictability.
After all, our lives revolve around it, so do
thousands of creatures fleshed out of this earth,
all circling the sun as one colossal organism.
Six months ago, I have decided to awaken
at the electric blue of dawn, wrap a blanket
around myself, put my slippers on, and walk up
a long staircase to the rooftop, where the sun
would slowly rise as a circle of naked radiance.
Some days it hides behind smog, clouds, rain;
Other days from across the sea or mountaintop
its steady warmth tears through fog and haze,
and draws peels of mist from the skin of trees.
Wherever I am, the sun gives without question,
births an infinite wondrous things, and destroys
as easily with the flick of a tongue. And while
I have seen the sun a hundred times and
marveled at the shades and shadows it stirred,
it is only at this hour that the sun gazes back
at these eyes whose pits lead to vacant interiors.
Day by day, the sun comes to shine through
and illumine the dark, unreachable chasm within:
that claw of guilt, that blow of shame, that lust,
that perpetual replay of persecution and burning.
One by one, the phantoms dissolve and disappear,
and in their place a lightness of being settles in.
And when I forget to get up at dawn, the sun
in its utter stubbornness and radial affection
continues to rise in the drowsy eye of my dream:
a perfect hole of light, pure and silent, coming
ablaze in the clear sky of my consciousness.

// Jul 2017

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