In The Dark


Only a fool draws
A line between the living
And the non-living

For where oh where shall we
Mask-encumbered fools that we be
In unwitting ignorance decide

To draw … in windblown sand …
Some fingerwagger of a line?
A vital question long overlooked

How ever to draw
A line between the living
And the non-living?

Only a fool draws
A line between the living
And the non-living


About Ben Naga

Pilgrim on the lam. Please feel free to explore the links to learn more. I trust you will find some things there will have been worth the effort. See you there.

Posted on January 9, 2015, in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 8 Comments.

  1. Life after Life .. And I have touched both worlds And both of full of the Living.. and None Living!!! 😉

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Do they take breath the non-living? Or are they zombies with no soul? Are the living alive with a fever to breath in the creative life. To feel nature surrounding them inside and out. The difference is wide and the outside of the circle goes far beyond our reach, yet we strive to touch the edges but not fall off the cliff.

    Liked by 1 person

    • The way forward is the cultivation of calm, awareness and reflection; unthinking.

      “How will I say where I end
      Or where you begin”


      A strong power calls from the left hand
      Across the waters deep
      A strong power calls from the left hand
      Let all things sleep or weep

      Oh the queen of love, you have unwove my eyes
      And my heart will not sleep

      The eye would sleep but the mind would rise
      I must needs walk down God’s eyebrows
      And along the streets of his eyes
      Look for me and you will see me in my red cloak
      Swimming determined
      As God’s blood flies

      Creatures of grief you beg from the thief
      I will not carry home your sacks of sorrow
      But I will pay the fiddler good silver if he smiles
      Pray God he see tomorrow

      And the fine fine girls that are into it
      And my eyes with salt water swim
      And we disputing with a brittle gaiety
      Upon the world’s rim
      If I sought to love you with my body
      It would be with a bent back
      Unto the day of doom

      Oh the Queen of Love
      I am in her heart
      She is in my room

      And together alone we clasp hands
      And in each other’s eyes walk the endless shore
      And below I have my duty to perform in the song
      And that that I was
      You will see it no more

      The snow is on the hills of my heart
      And to speak is to die
      The men at arms do seek to mark me
      And the monks raise hue and cry
      Seek me in vain on Golgotha
      Or in fear’s hollow
      For the way I take today
      Only the true may follow

      The ancestors in stone armour
      Calling for loyalty untrue
      Seek to make a zigzag of the arrow’s flight
      It is so swaddled in the bands of form
      But I am girdled with the storm
      And cloaked with the night
      I am not to be seen or found
      Save only in what I cause
      Standing outside on the inside outside
      Perfectingness or flaws

      How will I say where I end
      Or where you begin
      How will I say, what shall I play
      Shall it be you or the wild wind
      As Pan with the unsane eyes
      Or with the wild horns
      Or when I am crowned with the paper crown
      Or with the crown of thorns

      A strong power compels distortion from the right hand
      Fleece to the grey wolves
      Fangs to the grey sheep
      But the Queen of Love she strokes
      My body alive, that I do not sleep.
      The doctor brews potions and pills
      To open his own front door
      And the locksmith makes strong bolts
      To bar his gates to every new breeze that blows
      Shall I now put lion’s ears upon my ears
      Hear every sound as a roar
      Shall I now put mouse’s eyes upon my eyes
      Gauge the moon for size against my paw

      While the Queen of Love
      She sings to me
      From above and beyond the world

      And I observe my mind
      It is playing ignorant boy
      While at her feet I am curled

      And I remember all female movements so well
      Of such a form to bring much joy and ease much care
      To perfume and let fall the coloured gown
      And to let down the curling hair

      But now I play seed thrower
      And I will play three-legged man
      I will play dream weaver and day bringer
      And catch as catch can

      While the Queen of Love
      She swims like a silver dove in my mind’s room
      And my body sleepwalks down the road
      In a warm dark swoon

      Liked by 1 person

  3. I love this, having found there is no line. (Some of the “dead” are still more alive and present in my life than many of the so-called “living”…. and as you suggest, who are we to define the difference? Death is but an expansion of life… and I’m no more than a sleepwalker.

    Liked by 1 person

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