Brahm
A spectral film that came and went,
In its elusive way gave vent
In some unreal words which meant;
'I think therefore I am.'
That phantasm only thought it thought;
A vain conception crudely wrought;
An egotistic sham.
Which brings us up against the fact
By Chunder's attestation backed —
There is no Substance, Thought, nor Act
Nothing exists but Brahm.
This quaint contraption here below
Is not a magic shadow show
Where phantom figures come and go,
As held by old Khayyam.
A show has time and space enough,
But here we only have such stuff
As dreams are made of — mental fluff
And visionary flam,
Throughout the universal scheme,
Be sure things tare not what they seem,
(To quote a well-known psalm)
They're only whimsies of a dream
A transient dream of Brahm.
All through the cycles of the Past
At which Notation stands aghast
He has subsisted, first and last,
Lone, functionless and calm.
Nothing extraneous can obtrude
Upon his Sabbath quietude,
Or discompose his tranquil mood,
For nothing is but Brahm.
'The Past and Present here unite
Beneath Time's flowing tide' (to cite
A Bard of Uncle Sam)
For Time stretched out in aeons dim
To Apprehension's very rim,
Is insignificant to him
A Bagetelle to Brahm.
For once in his negation deep,
He somehow chanced to drop asleep;
And through that forty-wings there ran
A flitting dream. So time began —
He dreamed this stellar lens of ours,
Which mocks at telescopic powers
Innumerable suns sublime,
At furious speed yet keeping time!
[...] Read more
poem by Joseph Furphy
Added by Poetry Lover
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