Sunday, September 18, 2016

Her Beacon-Hand

"Her Beacon-Hand" and "I lift my lamp beside the golden door" are borrowed from "The New Colossus" – the famous sonnet by Emma Lazarus (1849–1887), written in 1883.

She is perfect.
Yes. She is perfect exactly on account of her
myriad shortcomings… and beautiful exactly
on account of her scars.

Indeed, her contradictions are the essence of her undying
allure. So when she beckons, as she eventually does…
we all listen, we all follow…

each of us responding to a different facet of hers,
one that better corresponds to our own inner disposition
at that hapless moment in our lives when we heard
her fateful call.

Is she really liberty? Or is it blind fate?
It’s hard, always hard, to tell.

But the beckoning is too alluring, and we listen,
we always listen… even when we pretend not to,
even when we fail to act, or act wrongly.

For her we sacrifice everything, even our innocence... 
even her.

Yes. We often sacrifice her in her own name!
And as her irony meets ours, our cynicism proves
no less deep… and our logic no less cold.  


She brings both resurrection and death, redemption
and damnation, as we grow inside her womb,
continuously trying to climb out of it, only to fall
right back – the perennial children that we are, that
we will forever be. But her warmth is never enough
for us, never enough to quell our yearning for something
beyond, something vague and, perhaps sinister, something
whose beckoning is far more alluring and deadly than hers.
And she cannot lead us to it. Her beacon-hand is not enough
guidance it seems.

But then, those who still crave guidance can never be truly
free. For freedom lurks in the dark, and all that bathe in the light
is nothing more than an illusion.

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