(tale of a passion flower)
(i)
You're the jade mountain
surrounded by moss weeds,
flashing a blue light
from your rising arms lifting
rubble and bed rock
into hollow layers of a slab
to plant you yards-deep
with fig tree roots.
Behind you, I see beads
of strolling frolicking stars
and the mooing bull,
as it ambles across a glen
eyeing me with a piece
of your sky in its blue dye.
(ii)
Throwing spears from
an armed gaze piercing
the bush of a wandering stare.
Behind you the marksman
who stood on the bank
across the sky-blue river
flowing with floated petals,
their beams hurled back
at the sharpshooter
who found a place in your heart -
who pierced your core
with a sticking arrow
carved out of a heavenly staff.
(iii)
Behind you rises
the numen, who stuck quills
into your mouth
to spill out a comet of light
as you crawl
and stand on the quarry
of a promontory, from which
blue walls rise
into a tower girded by crags
overlooking a sea shore.
Here stands the place,
where we meet
in a breezy kaffeeklatsch
to gab about the blue
crown of quills you wear.
(iv)
It's been crafted from
a mooing bull behind a mountain
rising with you above
a tower housing the numen
who made your eyes shine
with quills from a porcupine
that melted into the bushes.
And when a marksman
shot you in the eye,
you exploded into the great
star of a passion flower.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem