I hang here behest,
Contained in the modesty,
Of my love for you.
I might be one of the fruits,
Of your labor in the world outside,
But for me my most fruitful song,
Which in turn contains my world,
Is the one that is nothing,
But a sliding dust under your foot,
Lying there hopeless in the pursuit of touching you.
And surrounding me here are the Grills,
Of the cage of your holy Concern,
Which is nothing but a Weed,
A disguised outgrowth of the Love,
That is all pervading and all embracing,
The purest commune between our differences,
That manages to transcend my lowly existence,
To what’s beyond both me and You.
If you could just let me fly Master!
I shall prove it to you,
That the beyond that is,
Would take the expression of my flight,
Which furthers your arousal for that very Song,
Which we both are,
Singing which would become inevitable,
And the time will come when we both shall be the witnesses,
Of the mockery of that very cage which guards me,
From the very love I live for,
Thirst of which I have surrendered unrequited to you.
O my sweet and kind Master!
Just let me fly!
And I promise you for your own timeless sake,
I’ll be back in this very cage,
After I am done flying,
To become the fruit or a prized possession,
Or just an artifact of your Glorious might,
If only you too promise me,
To forever keep the cage door open.