Old lady returns
From morning walk
This pleasant April day
Of fresh green leaves.
April 2012 Archives
Old lady returns
From morning walk
This pleasant April day
Of fresh green leaves.
The week stirs to life
Bread van passes
American robin heralds Monday morning.
This sparkling Easter morning
Is poignant for me.
Hearing the bluejay squawk
I miss the peals of English bells
Ringing through Christchurch Park.
Hanuman (Photo credit: bananeman)
It is good Friday.
The Son of Man dies on the cross.
The Son of the Wind is born,
Darkening the Sun
In his eager flight
To grasp the golden fruit.
With dispassion stronger than diamond
I break the glittering baubles
Fame, wealth, power, prestige,
Houses, cattle, cars and land.
What use are these trinkets to me
Without the Name of Ram?
What good is even my life to me
If 'Rama' is not written on every rib?
In the anguish of longing for Him
My chest is torn open
My heart plucked out.
He Ram, He Ram
Why have you forsaken me?
Hungry for the fruit of liberation
I hurl myself towards the sun
And fall again,
Lifeless and cold
To the earth.
Come, Son of the Wind
Revive me with fragrant herbs
From the Garden of Gethsemane
The Child of Eve is dying
Let the Child of the Wind be born.
Carry me home
To the city without conflict
May my heart be the heart of Hanuman
Where Ram and Sita dwell.
Cloud sits on Bear Peak
Birds greet new day
Snow-cleansed, purified
Radiant glowing suchness!
The same place is never the same
Nothing can be recaptured
Every moment is fresh.
Some days
There is no mountain.
