One thing?

‘Say something!’
someone will say, some day.
‘Say one thing,’
perhaps the plea may be.

Say ‘no’

and this is why.

One this leads to another,

like mountains and streams
rivulets and dust particles
clouds and thunderstorms
love and solitude
so give a host
a legion of wrongs
in error of definition
and a heart
that will not be stopped
by muscle or bodily brief,
but erupt and erupt and erupt.

 

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Word and melody

There’s a lyric
with an ‘anon’ byline
not for ignorance
but for multiplicity of author,
written by encounter and loss
hope shredded by choice and chance
abandoned in a war zone
hung from a clothes hanger,
there’s a melody
similarly composed
wrought in temperamental blend
a wayside left-behind,
a free-float in storm
and re-scripting of absurdist theatre;
word met tune
in an impossible hour
the universe stopped
waited,
but word had forgotten name
and purpose.
Melody too.

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The ways of staying

Eyes may leave
at dawn or dusk
ungodly hours
as such conceded by chance,
feet go too
but like left-footprint
gaze remains,
like melody-echo caresses
long after the song is done.

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Rain

I’ve known you
in all your garments
I’ve touched and been touched
intoxicated and blinded
swept off highway and the guru paara
swept into nondescript huts
into bus halts
pushed against tree trunk
made to tremble
with cold and wonderment
and yet
I have never seen you
in greater finery
as in the garments of anticipation
where rain is a promise
tagged on tree, leaf, wind, cloud and bird song,
as in the garments of going-away
touched with waterless perfume
of dust and re-greening.

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Forgive

Forgive my trespasses
I am blind to maps;
forgive the love I give
for poverty forbids other giving;
forgive the word
for silence is for reading and mis-reading;
forgive the silence
when word is tongue-shackled beyond belief;
forgive the grain that I am
I cannot grow into mountain;
forgive me for giving moments
for my life-clock was wrecked
in some auspicious time
when reason was banished
and the wine of love
seized heart.

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Footprints of the licit

Of the people
with the people 
and for the people too;
licit for the lay
licit for the robed 
these pada charika
as those other journeys
from village to village
along wide avenues and 
sole-testing hard gravel ways
house to house
this element of the ata lo dahama
to that
in the manner of fulfilling paramita;
we do not deny
we cannot judge
but as fellows in sansaric orbits 
with feet-touched respect
for robe and word
as part of the sivvanak collective
that larger Sangha
we repeat the oft-repeated 
the Anandian re-telling
from age to age
of the timeless:
‘Dhammasavana kalo ayang bhadantha’.

 

*This is the time to expose ourselves to the Dhamma’

[Inspired by the photography of Rukshan Abeywansha]

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