john tiong chunghoo

(Jan 21,1960 / NEW YORK)

i have lived a million years


i have lived a million years
this physique slashes it down to 20
waylaid in a geometry of time
every cell tries to tell
a different time, rings a different bell
a part is hidden in the light of the sun,
another in the moon, yet another
in the winds of earth

the river tries to time each
of its run, laying out a mirror
for the sky and cosmos
to embrace themselves
in its luminuous bossom,
a make belief of an oasis
mind vis a vis the physique

the body reflects the mind
the sky in the river
a mirage, a train
ever gliding on
top of the world
glad, glee and joy
hoisted by the water
to its highest cakra
to show it the lowest
of places before
the rendevouz and
roaring fiesta in a
maddening dance of light
at dawn, at noon, at dusk
sky and sea intertwined
in a resounding ecstacy
that celebrate the triumph
of the long trek to
the infinity of time
the sea forever leaping
to the horizon as if it is
begging for an answer
to its very existence
this physique and the mind
where the finite too lugs
onto the infinite for an answer
to its every breath

the river that takes sky
to the abode of the fishes
lotuses, worms
stars and the moon
it holds onto the mind
no mind but full of the mind
here, there, everywhere
over the sacred shoulders
of the homo sapiens -
a whole world of stories
to unleash to its master
a mirage pervading the mind
a leech pining for a life

this physique a guest that
promises to take leave
to let the host do his talking
in an infinity that has
played games as many and
fabulous as the stars twinkling
a mirage on the toes of earth

rewritten from:


i have lived a million years
this physique slices it down to 20
cupping me in a geometry of time
where every cell tries
to tell a different time
ring a different bell
a part is hidden in the sun,
another in the moon, yet another
in the winds of earth
the river tries to time each
of its run, smiling with the sky
the body is the
reflection of the mind
the sky in the river
it holds no water
but runs with it as if it
is part of the forms
the physique is a guest of
the mind, a guest that takes
leave one day to let the real self
do its talking amid the universe
that has for a million years
play with the mind a thousand
games of the living and the dead
a mirage on the toes of the earth

Submitted: Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Edited: Monday, February 10, 2014

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