Prescription—
not for the cure it brings,
but for the pleasure it stirs—
that is why
it is desired.
Sermon—
not as an iron nail
driven into the stone
of frozen minds,
but from the urge
to blend,
to dissolve into the herd
of the unknowing—
that is how
it leads.
Do not think
the pulpit
belongs only
to the mourner
or the priest.
Have you not seen
the modern pulpits?
Those
who tear their chests open
for myths of motivation,
for chanters of rate,
for gurus of rape.
O steadfast addicts
of remedy,
O prostrators
before deceitful saints,
O pleasure-seekers
at the breast
of naked stupidity—
what have I to do
with disputation
among hollow minds?
O true seekers
of solution in this age,
O worshippers of ignorance
in place of the divine,
O sworn to paths
that never cohere,
O lovers
of filth
cloaked as teacher—
all of you,
hasten
toward dissolution,
for more words
of wisdom
avail nothing.
From Poems of Madness
Ali Delshad Tehrani