Poem: Impossible Colours

(c) Bristol Museum and Art Gallery; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation
(c) Bristol Museum and Art Gallery; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation

I.

For the Mother, only the Child

Exists – can’t you see her moon-

Struck, Diana face? It is completely

Subsumed in the soul of her daughter –

All other things in the world only matter

In so much as they pertain to her child’s

Danger, enrichment, or protection

But, for the child, everything exists –

Everything is ablaze with infinity’s candle

Flame, refracting endlessly in impossible

Colours

The mother does exist to the child –

But, it’s almost as though she exists too much –

Exists too frightfully, omnisciently much, that

She must, perforce, become invisible

Like a god

Like a goddess

And since worshipping you, Tara,

That is how I feel –

I always feel too much: my heart

Overflows with aches and sobs, so

Consuming me with the compassion I

Feel for the world, that I become invisible –

Completely invisible

It’s bad enough having one child –

But what about when everyone,

And everything, is your child?

Oh, agonizing, heavy heart of

Bodhicitta! It’s amazing to think

How hard I worked to attain you!

And the fruit of my labours, is the

Most loyal of pains – a wife

Who will never, ever divorce

Me

II.

For pain is selfless –

She knows no boundaries –

It’s why she moves so freely

In the prosperity of chaos;

Though she can always be

Expected to spring most

Profusely from a heart that

Isn’t afraid

To selflessly love

Love like a mother

Like a Goddess

Like Tara

III.

But, I must confess –

This mother has a favourite –

A daughter whose beauty,

Inviolate, she would lay down

Her life to uplift

So, take my life;

‘Tis my gift –

Stay true to me

Through strife or rift

But, most of all,

Be true to you,

Though your mother be miserable

She is too much –

She must remain

Invisible

Completely, utterly,

Invisible

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