The Owl of Minerva

Farasha Euker

The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave, / The Moon, their Mistress, had expired before; / The winds were wither’d in the stagnant air, / And the clouds perish’d; darkness had no need / Of aid from them—she was the Universe.

Lord Byron, “Darkness”
Oh Sun,
harbinger of death,
nuclear warhead in the sky,
ball of fire,
Calligula’s bitch,
is there nothing
you wouldn’t do
to make people worship you?

Oh Moon,
ball of light,
or so it seems;
erotic participant
in Simo’s dreams:
from sacred darkness
your essence is shorn
to partake in the epic war
against the one named Ahura,
for what is seen is not
what is true nor what is real,
and like you, we are all light-reflecting faces
caught in gravity fields.

I, the owl of Minerva,
live in the realms of the dark night of the soul,
for darkness is my home
and through it I must roam.
Shocking as it may seem,
realms of light,
and light beams,
are not an aid to vision,
but an object of my derision.
You say that darkness is bitter
and light sweet,
to which I retort:
Without the bitterness
life wouldn’t be so sweet,
sweet as halwah,
sweet as the taste of “The Lilly of Havilah.”

Big bang boomerang,
what goes around comes around,
and after the expansion
must come contraction.
Qabd and bast,
qabd and bast,
ana-al-haqq!
Or am I?

We think we can see in the brightness of day,
and our vision will fail when the light goes away.
That is false,
it’s a lie
spoken to hide
the subversive truth that
it was the prophets,
not the Devil that had lied.
But if theirs was a lie,
it was noble indeed,
a lie to prevent corruption and greed.
Then history happened
with wars and with rape.
This is the form of our existence
and our human shape.
So to reach the Truth in this postmodern spectacle,
we must become Iblis’ receptacle.

A Faustian bargain is life’s little cure
for a sad and meandering existence,
often a bore,
for the Devil is good
and his truths are sublime,
his way is the left-handed path,
which is so hard to climb.

So I join the clan of the Devil tonight,
to seek the One who brought all to life.
I become the seeker seeking the Sought,
in this world of violence and strife.

I am the owl of Miverva,
the apple of your eye,
and the winged cherubim you’ll see when you die.
I am all of this and much more:
I am a prophet,
I am a whore.
I am everything
and nothing at all,
I am the apple,
I am the fall.