That solemn sage behind your insight
Whose wisdom is the wedlock
Of both instinct and intuition
Repressing every reason and fact
That portends rationalities or faults
That spirit that speaks louder in the wind
Whose voice is clearer than the oracles of Africa
Yet nobler than the eyes of the sun.
That inner whisper of utterances with no stuttering
Assertive, resilient, determined and esoteric
That learned stream that sees every beam
Feels everything, living or gone.
That gentle guide that jogs your thoughts
Cleansing the dark walls of your room
From every confused mother of lies
With the antiseptic of inspired imprints
Of something hands could never touch
Which the sight could never behold
Which no skin could feel, ear could hear
Or even tongue could taste for sweet or sour.
The sixth sense, the dreamer’s angel
The champion of the intellectual
The talebearer of the secretive
The slayer of the superstitious.