Poetry

I once ventured on the path of certainty

A shady lane-well worn under sturdy oaks

Where all was black and white

Where no grays were perceived

Where no mystery was tolerated

Where all was well- no one dare question the questions that

Contradicted the answers that came from the ultimate voice of certainty-

The inscripturized entity of the BOOK,

The BOOK of certainty.

 

It was a beautiful illusion- or so I thought…but I could not stay deluded for too long

There were always too many doubts that I needed to suppress

Questions unanswered and filed in box not to open.

But even more damaging…

I had put God in a box and in the box God had to stay.

It was verboten for God to act otherwise.

Such was the life on the path of certainty

The price to pay –continuous anxiety that I would be discovered…

That I wasn’t God and did not possess all the answers,

That I wasn’t Thou…That I was finite not infinite.