Cold Steel

george_bernard_shaw_art_540Cold Steel

Cold steel and steel can never meld
Sans fire and flux to make the weld,
In separate states forever smelt
Bereft of heat to make them melt;

And in the furnace of the mind
Where thoughts and words transform combined,
What heat but passion from the heart
Can catalyze those unbound parts?

What flux save for emotions feel
Can fuse imaginations steel?
What fire but creativity
Can fuel the forge of poetry?

In every mind a world unique
Portrays its own reality,
In every heart a soul that seeks
Release from passion’s ardent heat;

And you, sad pedagogue of writ
In ivory tower’s heights you sit,
The literary bourgeoisie
The wannabe-a-Pharisee;

With sanctimonious pedantry
And shallow rationality,
You sermonize reality
And repress spontaneity;

Where is your heart? Where is desire?
Where is your passion? Where is fire?
How privileged has your life been
That you can’t speculate and dream;

Your whetted acumen is blind
To know the world within my mind,
Your intellect can’t comprehend
The depth of my experience;

Pursue release from your conceit
Try standing on your own two feet,
Throw-off the robes and go without
And learn what real-life’s all about;

Go live in Haiti on the street
To beg for food and go bare-feet,
You’ll seek relief in destitution
Abstraction’s wisdom in affliction;

Your erudition will be free
To ruminate exquisitely,
When misery and deprivation
Bring to naught your education;

Then spend some time with UNICEF
Attend some starving children’s deaths,
And look into their parents eyes
To tell them not to theorize;

And when you’ve learned to wonder why
Compassion’s tears have wet your eye,
When you know your own contrition
And seek relief in dream and vision;

Then go back to that ivory tower
With all your rationale and power,
And sprinkle petrol all around
Then strike a match and burn it down.

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