Life of Pi

Mere cats and rafts
in a luminescence survive
the tests of many gods.
It is a marvel
It is a mirage
It is the waves of faith upon
the shores of reason…

It didn’t need so many gods.

The lotus blooms amidst
a jungle, amidst clear waters.
Avatars of vishnu save
mere cats
that are titanic in a
reciprocation so partial
that it becomes
spiritual.

Our cross is the shape
of a boat–this son of god
swims through pain
of other creatures
so splendid:
of a re-creation
so divine.

Roots, roots, roots
———–
Who roots?
Who is a mere mirror?
Allah, Hellah
Hesus, Souhail
———–
The universe in a mouthful
of ocean
of torrents of currents
of fish gods
that are eaten
and worshipped
in severence.

We cast away a glance,
no a shroud, of
narrativity,
dreamlike, like carnivores,
reallife, like the bindu.

Threads around limbs,
and a magnificence,
that become alveoli
in lungs of tales
more majestic
more self-taught
than they are feline.

All I want to know
is not if there is a god,
but how the bard
assembled fragments
of childhood
and gleams of jellyfish
into an iridescence
that bathes
in the indifference
of the supine.

life of pi_mehtacritic

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