Dasein Poem by Artchil Daug

The stairs by mid-day felt slippery
as heat enveloped my mind after
books unchained me towards
that incandescent lamp giving off
the illusion of light moths bathe
crying for a piece of heaven, and
great expectations for nothing more
than another dream to explore.

I relinquished sacredness and
humanity—that man who once lived as man
began to see the path the camel took
before becoming a lion
before becoming the child
that could open the locked gates
of virtue—I left it out, a filth needed
to be thrown with the incandescent lamp
in that afternoon after cleaning one's closet.

A madman stood by watching
he taught me to see a world beyond
the light that shines within a star
spewing its energy for that supernova
that can murky the waters
of that river flowing beneath my feet
bringing with it the music
of the other stars that dotted existence
with ironies and conflicts, with truth and lies.

The ghost of the local priest, who helped him
from the yoke of a kind of ignorance, appeared
with the teacher who welcomed him
in the station of philosophy where they set me
off to a new journey on the river where
two ferrymen once achieved
enlightenment.