Holy Wisdom
"She is not to be found in me, a sarcophagus of man’s ego"
I am naught but a space
A parcel of air entombed by man
Beautifully entombed, that I grant
My dome floating like a vision
My pillars rising to heaven itself
Yes indeed, Solomon was surpassed by me
But I am but a space nonetheless
Nothing more
They do not comprehend such elementary truths however
First, they worshipped in an orgy of gold and incense
Chanting and glittering in an effort to summon God’s favour
Then they stripped me bare
Laid their carpets jarringly askew
And bowed to the whitewashed wall whilst overhead an imported alphabet proclaimed their claim to the truth
Yet neither understand
Both make a mockery of my name
For the God they so earnestly, seriously seek
She is not to be found in me, a sarcophagus of man’s ego
She is in the fragile flower that blooms in the beds outside me
She is in the twinkle of the sunlight on the azure waters of the Bosporus
She is in the gift of a meal to a hungry stranger
Written 29/04/22, Bellapais, Turkish Republic of North Cyprus
Copyright © 2022, Matthew E. Pointon
About the Creator
Matt Pointon
Forty-something traveller, trade unionist, former teacher and creative writer. Most of what I pen is either fiction or travelogues. My favourite themes are brief encounters with strangers and understanding the Divine.
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