Target

Eye and eye
in the elusive
all-encompassing
embrace,
there is no stand, no outer circle
no background
no ground for feet
no hand or finger
no feathered arrow
no biting tip
just eye and eye
that gets tip to target
the here to there of our lives
where end-point has many names
but the journey has one:
meditation.

[Inspired by the photography of Rukshan Abeywansha]

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Read, reader

Read, reader
as you will 
for these words
mine for now,
were mined from a coinage 
of elusive inspiration;
read, reader
as you will
for my ignorant pickings 
did not stop word-river
my inarticulate dam
was helpless in inevitable spills;
read, reader
for that which is mine
is now yours,
to keep or throw
in ignorance or enlightenment. 

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Old Man Ocean

It giveth, it taketh
from its depths we came
and into its depths
as dust or ash we go
in its every drop is a history
lives that were and those that are
and in this time of going and gone
of sweep and search
our primordial sorrows rise and fall
roar and crash
in pitiful and pitiless echo
of abundance 
of poverty
in and out of brine,
with and without tear.

 

[Inspired by the photography of Rukshan Abeywansha]

 

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Life-ends at death-point

Life-ends                                         
are brilliant
like flames
that burn brightest
at death-point;
life-ends
flutter in merriment
gather colors                 
in the preferences
of a child
uninhibited and unfettered
by reason or propriety;
life-ends hang
on nondescript branches
too old, too weighted,
too weary for re-flowering;
life-ends fall
one by one
they go in street-sweep
and nonchalance,
buried in the pecking-order
of our death-walks,
decked in the fast colors
of the times;
life-ends leave
leave us alone
with leafs from other books
as tattered and forlorn
but avidly read
death-ends. 

[Inspired by the photography of Sakuna Gamage, published in the FINE Section of The Nation]

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Hermitude

Your hermitude
it’s a 24/7 thing
an ‘otherwise engagement’
a ‘Do not disturb’ sign
on a door whose color is a mystery
a no-no thing
a no-no-no thing
said so silently
that exclamation marks fall
and arrange themselves as postscript
in ad-animation style
but your hermitude
slips out and in
in doorless ways
marks ‘present’
in virtual space
and I wonder
(with a smile):
‘Exceptions for the privileged?’

Dhamma Lines

Every word is made for elaboration
for 'bulbing' and 'flagging'
for assertion of faith
in non-faithful ways,
made for coloring
and blinding
a cheering that dulls
the healing chant
the gathas, the pirith
rebelling even
again the thun-sutra
every word is observable in breach
and yet,
in and out of color
facing the blinding light
and in quieter shades
of stupa and bo tree
there is word-reflection
adhering affirmation
for words can be clap
and can be clasp
some are lit
and others light,
this Vesak
and always.



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Tarantism

She asked
'Shall I dance'
and I said 'sure';
Dupont Circle, Washington DC
is made of drums
plastic containers
of sizes and shapes
I didn't count
a man with sticks
and a single girl
who made the Capitol stop,
who danced and danced
and when she was done
simply said
'No boyfriend would ever have let me, but you did'
and she sang the songs of Fikrit Kizilok
and I sang Amaradeva
she translated and I did too
and that was the second dance
on a night of open words
and feet unleashed
by heart.