The Sound

Hilma Af Klint-The Swan No.9-1915

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Now that I have grown older I hear,
A sound with no perceptible source,
Gaining in frequency as this second
Flows into the next without pause
Humming a refrain that all is in vain
A whisper being visible to the naked eye,

Calling onto an other into becoming I,
Somehow neither there or here;
With the attributes of a weather-vane
Gyrating in search of the source,
As secretive as a tiger padding on velvet paws
The first cause, prime mover of the second.

This duel between selves with no second
And no discernible difference to the eye
Leads to fast forward, then rewind, live pause
Looking for the real, the now and here
The recipe for that sublime secret sauce,
That reveals a true beauty, not the vain

Love of self coursing through the veins
That fails to see another, even a second;
Believing nothing could be the source
Beyond the I, except another I
A world of reflections and images,here
There is no respite or rest or pause,

Leading to the envy of a dozing cat with curled paws,
How you wish to just be in that vein,
To understand intuitively what you see or hear
Exposing the sequence of the first, second
As it blossoms into the tripartite eye
Touching the colours at the source

Dissecting the origins as they return to the source,
Now begins the possibility of a pause,
The unity of plurality, the end of the I.
To hear that furious sound wasn’t all in vain
As it grants the chance to relive the second
When we finally arrived to now be here.

To achieve the source, know that you’re vain
Do it now this second and do not pause
To open the inner eye and listen out to hear.