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    Footprint of an Elephant
    Footprint of an Elephant
    Footprint of an Elephant
    Ebook98 pages38 minutes

    Footprint of an Elephant

    By A.N. Persaud

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    About this ebook

    A compilation of forty-nine poems spanning a decade, Footprint of an Elephant, is a journey of the human path, different for each walker but containing a common human thread. Penetrating beyond the thin and superficial veil of ethnicity, creed, color, culture, and the like, Footprint of an Elephantwith its three sections: Awakening, Uprising, and Conquestis an exploration of one walkers path.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTrafford Publishing
    Release dateOct 28, 2011
    ISBN9781426995743
    Footprint of an Elephant
    Author

    A.N. Persaud

    A. N. Persaud has been taking poetic license for roughly half of his life. Born in Georgetown, Guyana, he now spends much of his time in and around Toronto, Canada, where he busies himself with philosophy, poetry, and the pursuit of truth. A decade in the making, Footprint of an Elephant is the first compilation of his work.

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      Book preview

      Footprint of an Elephant - A.N. Persaud

      Contents

      Book 1 AWAKENING

      The Bridge

      One freedom

      What begins as a seed

      Ram out of Ayodhya

      When fools decide to tread

      We too are human

      A thing diminished

      You came to me

      Stim

      Prepare the ground

      I wear your band

      Where has transcendence gone?

      A warmth in being near

      Book 2 UPRISING

      10

      When you close the gate

      What lingers

      Don’t Look Back

      Throw yourself

      Balloons

      Open the windows

      Stand among the young

      A room for music

      The cradle in the labyrinth

      Sawol’s brood

      The chariot

      Go not with a heavy heart

      Who?

      Uprising

      Part II

      Two heads rise: the battle for man

      Battle for the light we fear

      A great unease: death within

      Like an arrow to its target

      One-way street

      Shall I let you sleep, my love?

      Spit not the venom

      Fertile ground

      The slowed pace

      Not a place to close one’s eyes

      No obstacle prevails

      The Sixth Labour

      It was said

      Book 3 CONQUEST

      Risen

      Kairos and the fire

      I’ve come to kill you, Mr. Persaud

      Disciples on trial

      Merit

      Whose lights?

      The Footprint of an Elephant

      The undulating way

      14

      Who says my poems are poems?

      These poems are not poems.

      When you can understand this,

      Then we can begin to speak of poetry.

      (Taigu Ryokan)

      Whenever your spirit wants to speak in images, pay heed;

      for this is when your virtue has its origin and beginning.

      (Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche)

      Book 1 AWAKENING

      inner%20dividers%201a.jpg

      The Bridge

      I came to an old bridge on my path.

      Above the entranceway to the bridge hung a sign.

      It was an ancient sign,

      A message from the ancestors, already thousands of years old when it was hung.

      It said

      "This is a bridge.

      Do not build your home here."

      A message in plain view for all to see

      Who dare cast their gaze upwards

      Away, for one short moment, from the dirt which covers the way

      I try every day as I cross the bridge

      To heed the message of those wise men and women

      Who belong not to the past, but to the future

      Because they did not make their home upon a bridge

      But found their true abode upon the motionless foundations.

      I strive to follow their examples.

      I strive to remember, as I cross

      that this is a bridge.

      This is a bridge, I tell myself, this is a bridge.

      And I walk.

      This is a bridge, a tool, a means, an implement.

      But sometimes my body becomes tired

      And it wants to stop and make a home upon this bridge.

      But if I listen to this body, so attached to the bridge, and stop

      It will be so difficult to rise and walk again.

      I cannot stop.

      Stopping and resting in the comfort of the known means a death.

      The Memory will fade and I will not know that this is a bridge.

      I will mistake it for a home and greater beings will look upon me,

      Poor creature, in pity.

      I will forget that there is a destination,

      Ends for which

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