Dark and gloomy,
In the middle of the night.
I found a cat
And named it Mirk.
He was shrouded in black fur
And moved quietly.
His lovat eyes dug
Deep like an Oracle’s.
A raven that meowed,
Except he never did.
Mute and silently he lived with me,
Until one day.
That one day he revealed the Dern,
When he finally spoke.
Spoke yes, never meowed.
“Goetic I may appear,
But I tell no lies.
Listen to the tale and clear,
Story of a fatal reprise.”
I stood their witness to duende,
Mute this time was I,
Thus, taking it for my consent,
He began with the mortala story.
“I was a Human,
My name was Sage.
Neither a man nor a woman,
I was a mage.
Women died virgin in my praise,
Men sang of my glory.
I was known by the Priests,
By the name of Aghori.”
Scared and curious I stood
Heard every single word he said.
A well-trained cat or sorcerer,
I was unable to decide.
“Among them were some,
Who thought of me as nefarious,
Someone who would kill for fun,
Somebody tenebrific and ungregarious.
For I was the cause,
Why their daughter’s and sister’s died celibate
Behind their sons’ and brothers’ morose.
United they decided I was to eliminate.
Woman came to me for powders and potions,
To keep them healthy or bear them child.
Some came to me for Orphic lotions,
To look younger, erotic, and wild.
Politicians, teachers, poets, and traders
All sought me to learn,
Ways to woo women or recite Vedas.
Some asked for measures to earn.
They praised me and prayed,
I turned into their God.
Hence made more enemies,
Who yearned to destroy this Lord.”
Spoke the cat in an earnest tone,
His tail waving in usual propensity
Mirk or Sage,
He continued the story.
“They set fire to my village,
Killed anyone who stood for me.
There was plunder and pillage
As far as human eye could see.”
This was obscure,
How could he know?
He could not be in his homeland,
If he were a mage or Aghori.
My question he heard,
And smiled if cats could smile.
Then showed me his lovat eyes,
That shown like a thousand suns.
“These are not just eyes,
But mirror to this world and beyond.
A reflection to what lies,
Everywhere I am not bodily found.
Rendering me ubiquitous,
It makes me who I am,
I am infinite.”
I, who was standing still,
Fell to the ground.
Unable to speak or comprehend,
All I did was stare.
“Born with the sight,
Think me not as Oracle.
Do not name me God,
Do name them miracle.
I tiresomely mediated, learned, and practiced
Vedas, Vidya, and history of Saints.
Neither priest, pujari, Baptist,
Nor the magician, taint and attaint.
When I began, it was with my hometown,
Then the land beyond seas.
Did not want the jewels or crown,
Food, clothes, or lees.
I was avid for perception,
And to meet the Creator.
Greedy for a sight without deception,
To see unseen and greater.
Hour after hour, day after day
Months and years passed
With me in my cave
Before I saw the pillage start.”
He sighed in grief
And rested his head on one paw.
Quiet with his all-seeing eyes closed,
He spoke as if to himself.
“I must have been there for decades,
For I was but a boy when I began
But as a man I left the cave
For my feet were slower when I ran.
I saw several universe
That exist parallel to ours,
There are men traverse
Beneath this world, between the stars.
With time my sight voyaged,
Farther and farther into the unknown.
Clear and beyond the mirage,
Through the vacuum and foehn.
And finally I saw,
But the shock it left me.
The abode of God,
Barren and empty.
There is no God, his power or glory
A cat, a mage, an Aghori.
With all-seeing eye.
Turned into a feline by versus,
I am now an innocent, gullible soul.
Who knows of God’s abode and consequences,
When everyone of us is turned into a ghost.”
His eyes were now shining brighter
His voice was loud and strong.
Scared, I wanted to run away
Curious, I stood the ground.
“To fight against those louts,
Against their believes vain yet stout,
Seemed like a lost cause.
I was on my own,
And so are you.
The creators of our lives,
Until we ensue.
Then we belong to Death,
But not in a way you think.
The dark matter is not devilish wrath,
A skeleton with a scythe.
But, a huge void in the air,
Something you daily pass by.
At it every day you stare,
There we live once we die.”
My eyes widened
I was now hungry for the truth.
I looked at him with impatience,
Compelling him to continue.
“The Clock is our final abode.
There we live once we die.
Turning each spent breath to minutes and second,
Turning our flesh in time.
Again and again,
Until we find our pieces once more.
And arrive where we first began,
Deprived of all memory and lore.
You find wings or tail,
Become a woman or a fly.
As time you sail,
Until it assembles what you find.
No God, no divinity, just that,
You and only you find yourself back.
After that barren land, His deserted abode,
You are your Creator, the only God.”