Miʿrāj

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As if being pulled toward a force,
free will became delusion.
Greeted by ashen faces in the shallows, swallowed whole,

powdered with fine crushed bone,
they parted ranks to let me pass.
Stairs of Hyacinth garlands pressed my feet.

Skulls spun on bamboo scaffolds, jaws agape, sockets black,
lemon grass malaria,
Incense spiralled funeral pyres above the canopy.

Heaven reeked too much of life for me,
the Temple held too much of what once was
When all I wanted was to be free.

© Wolfgar 2019

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