ONE DEAD GOD
/STEVEN ILCHEV, 1992/
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Ever since Julius Caesar was stabbed in the back
Our dastardly world has never quite been on the
Right track
Reading Romeo and Juliet spells glory in my ears
As I imbibe them tasty, life-like bitter
Tears
Oh, Romeo and Juliet you converse with each other
Churning out words so expressive and
Pure
My geriatric soul is forever enthralled by it all
That my sight can conceive of
No cure
Damn! I'm driven like a humanly-inept animal out
Of my narrow-fisted mind treading through forests
Boasting an almighty green lawn
With unfounded brutality, though I strike
A tender match and put paid to the rotten bod
Of a lost ghostly gibbon
Then I drop like a writer's ink, so
Very senselessly thrown into the
Imposing abyss of the perilous unknown
Damn! I do, I feel forevermore the trendy, heavy boots of
Somebody who's a total drone; his voice hits me for a six:
"Dear Man, decaying lethargically is this sinful human bone!"
Oh, oh… I reckoned I was in contact with some golden ray
But how it turned out it was the reflection of my artificially decorated
Shiny o so shiny dismay
This man, this man has hidden our happy days, who is he…?
He comes to heal, to preach, to lift your soggy figure from
The heartache knitted to the perils of your mire, the forbidden pearls they are…
Who is he? One dead and deader god of the doleful tone
He conjures up something or other, gesticulates to the
distantly distant phantasm, his ire is incessant
His tongue is so entreating: "Why don't we
Pray? Why don't we merely pray for praying's
Sake?"
Who the dickens is he and are we of our own selves
Or of the sky of the Universal overthrow,
Are we of our own selves, my brothers and sisters?
Do we, do we live in a phantasmagoric environment,
Yes we do and yes we do and how we do it is
A mystery but the point is that we do
Who the dickens is this man? Who is he?
He conjures up something or other, that much
Even your granny could ascertain
His magic has outlived the ages or the mind of human pages –
To heal, to preach, to lift you up, lifting you high
And dry, amen!
A god so irreproachable with a doleful tone
He gives advice, advice he gives,
Betimes – and that's his style, his trendy style
One god, just one in a charnel
One god, just one in chastisement,
One god who made us for his ardour
A god in a dusky water, one dead
Hackneyed resolution; one man of iniquity
Iniquity, oh yes, oh yes, oh yes
One dead god, one god deader and deader each day,
Each happy day that smiles
upon us
One dead god who sojourns somehow beside his
Patricidally-inclined audience,
One dead god for our common bedpost.
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