Nag-Champa smoke surrounds my plastic Buddha,
the scented wisps caress his glossy belly.
Upon his throne, my desk, his dimpled grin
reveals the inner peace that sparks my envy.
The scented wisps caress his glossy belly
and burn my nostrils. Eyes open, Buddha’s face
reveals the inner peace that sparks my envy
and induces an awkward lotus pose. I breathe in
and burn my nostrils. Eyes open, Buddha’s face
is intertwined with mine. My calf cramps up
and induces an awkward lotus pose. I breathe in
slowly; acceptance fills my lungs. All life
is intertwined with mine. My calf cramps up:
My body was not built for meditation.
Slowly, acceptance fills my lungs. All lives,
like mine, are salmons caught in Indra’s woven net.
My body was not built for meditation,
my mind wanders off. How can a modern soul
like mine be a salmon in Indra’s woven net?
Our present rises out of past traditions.
My mind wanders off again; a modern soul sits
upon his throne, his dimpled grin unchanged.
Our present rises out of past traditions:
Nag-Champa smoke surrounds my plastic Buddah.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment