Fragments Beneath Eternal Trees


16

I am a fragment on the white clouds
Of Apollo, Vishnu see himself in me
I am the Autumn silver of first snow
Washed on my morning face

I am the stubborn silence that accompanies
Too much happiness, the foreign
Country love. I am the last request
Of a golden heart gladdened to be poor

That the purity persists despite that
With a prayer book full of lyrics
Sutras of the melted precipice of self
I am a fragment of all that was once divine

Set in empty volumes of diamond flesh
I am the end of an invisible dynasty
Poetry dies with me, as a window
To the gray-maned mythology of italics
Where words became monuments of Autumn herself.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/she-409922245

Voice


105

Now I feel the leaf of voices
Nothing mightier than the Trees
The sky where no word is spoken
But the speaking of life; sun & earth

O what is it in me that lusts for voice?
Language, the hoping neurons in me –
Now I wish the water of voices
That traces the blood of perfect organs

The soul of ancestry that brought me here
Now I feel the crypt of voices
My temples struck by the depths
All wait for the right voices, for whose melody?

The water follows the moon in my
Ancient feeling, with fluid steps
Forever ready, as if to sing –
The ignorance of words is so so clear

The non-duality from which every utterance follows
Trapped in time, but it is still beautiful
To feel poetry in nature, mysticism in the wind.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/resize-me-392917067