Mad Mountain Seer

Mad Mountain Seer
© Surazeus
2025 03 10

In halflight of the rainy afternoon 
I halfdream about the mad mountain seer 
who travels from his village in Peru 
to fight cruel fascists in streets of Paris 
where the young mother nurses her new child 
who gives him her hope chest of pulsing stars. 

Wild hound of his heart escapes prison cell 
to race among blood-stained poplars of faith 
where the ancient shepherd Jesus holds high 
torch of liberty with flame of desire 
almost snuffed out by brutal winds of war 
that swirls dirt from newly-heaped mounds of graves. 

Young weaver girl with factory-wounded hands 
builds fragile home from cracked bones of dead gods 
on desolate shore of the lonely stream 
where the mountain seer carves magic-spell runes 
on shells of turtles found on the sea strand 
by the young mother who nurses her child. 

Extending hand made of water and fear 
to graft bad fruit on pine of languid hope, 
the mountain seer, anchored by dirty clothes, 
lumbers through festival of skeletons 
to drumbeats and flute-wails among red tents 
where jesters and ballerinas make love. 

Exalted unity of hungry spies 
that fuels singular beat of his heart, 
urges the mountain seer to talk to God, 
so he shouts questions at the empty sky 
about why people must suffer to live 
when serpents writhe from shadows of false hope. 

Rain falls on every city in the world 
with dirty tears of mothers seeking food 
while mad troubadours howl thunderous hymns 
to solve the human cipher of our love 
with sorcery of positive desire 
though we float in our coffins full of rain. 

Meeting Osiris by the border wall 
that divides land of life from nought of death, 
the mountain seer asks for inheritance 
which he deserves from his pious ancestors 
hidden in the electric dream machine 
which he invents from stolen words of love. 

Crimson crown of Jesus huge as the moon 
glows with tragic sweetness of emeralds 
above pulsing brain of the mountain seer 
who drinks blue wine from the goblet of fire, 
then wails mercurial psalms of holy faith 
that still poisons his haughty gypsy heart.