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Nissim Ezekiel - PhilosophyNissim Ezekiel - Philosophy
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There is a place to which I often go, Not by planning to, but by a flow Away from all existence, to a cold Lucidity, whose will is uncontrolled. Here, the mills of God are never slow. The landscape in its geological prime Dissolves to show its quintessential slime. A million stars are blotted out. I think Of each historic passion as a blink That happened to the sad eye of Time. But residues of meaning still remain, As darkest myths meander through the pain Towards a final formula of light. I, too, reject this clarity of sight. What cannot be explained, do not explain. The mundane language of the senses sings Its own interpretations. Common things Become, by virtue of their commonness, An argument against their nakedness That dies of cold to find the truth it brings.
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