Thou hast composed thy protean poem in world-syllables and galacticlines in measured nanometres and magnaprosodies, of mini-meteors andpoly-pulsars; creations and dissolutions of multi-universes form thecresting crescendos and runic refrains, with minute molecular rhythmsand grand cyclical rhymes.
Thou hast adorned thy wizardly prose and virtuoso verse with spaceschiseled to curves and cubes, and multimodal forms of skies, seas,earths, sapphirine, azurine, vernal, pastelled of thy contemplativehues, punctuated with portraits of stunning still life and thestrummed moving one, too.
Like a child imitating mother, for how else would he adore her,cooking leaves and grass on make-belief fires, do I seek to simulateThy omnigenous art in evernew games I invent to play in dire need oflove from Thee.
I daub and dabble, and diddle with the chisel, and try squeak notesfrom my broken fiddle. From the unstable sands of tenuous times, byseas of creative surging in thy currently enfleshed minds, I wish tobuild monastic cells formed of music, a cloistered canvas, acolour-infused cynosure. I call it a house for all Thy Muses whereinfrom this day
with my play at art
do I Thee worship.
Like continents divided joining their hands underneath deep oceans,seemingly now split from Thee I am perennially joined unto Thee. Ising this song of our biune lovingness like Europa lured byZeus-bull, riding turtleback now on this shore. In her music-rustlingshawl's folds and wrinkles I vision magnified majestic monasteriesmodeled whereafter do I build a humble house for all Thy Museswherein from this day
with my play at art
do I Thee worship.
I scribble unto Thee this perfunctory hymn in unshapely ungainlyletters, some even written dexter to sinister. I try to croon thiscrudest lyric in discorded notes yet tearful tunes, of my heart's ownso oft-broken reeds in the garden of my thoughts where every so oftenmake-belief trees have grown sky-tall from prickly pebbles plantedfor seeds. But wouldst Thou still, my celestial mother, dotinglyadoring Thy tiny toddler's doodles, fondly pat me on my little back.Then bless me and make of me a true aesthete. Do come abide in mya-building house for all Thy Muses wherein from this day
with my play at art
do I Thee worship.
In my monastery of Muses
with my hymnal art
in liturgies marble-chiseled
from this day shall I Thee
with Thine own beauty
aesthetically worship.
Footnote: Zeus drew Europa's attention by taking the form of a veryattractive bull. She rode it and he swam away with her into the sea.There are different legends as to where he took her thereafter. Shehas, however, arrived at this shore of the Atlantic underneath whichthe two continents join hands. She now rides turtleback: the AmericanIndian name for this land means Turtle Island.