john tiong chunghoo

(Jan 21,1960 / NEW YORK)

Poem about Poetry - An Eastern Ballad

i long to be an eastern poet
to write about the Great wall
wean stories from every tearstained stone
that still echoes the cries of those
missing homes, wives and children
walk its length to measure the cold
and forlorn monolith borne from the
heart of stones of Shih piled high
over hills and mountains

i long to be an eastern poet
to write about the legion of
gods and goddesses in the nook
and corner on the pantheons
of the the temples of india

those alluring and well endowed
gods and goddesses who stole from
heavens to teach about salvation
senseless senses, seeds of bondage
this world a dungeon of pain, a realm
nobody should come back to except the gods
to help man metamophosise from a bundle of senses
to om consciousness, nirvana

i would love to meet Moses
to talk about the Almighty God
his little brush with death and Salvation
on the swift Nile that still oozes with the tears
of mom who lost only son to the Pharoah's princess
the river that gave him his name
his lovelorn days in the gardens of the Palace
and the parting of the Red Sea that drew a line
between the people of God and the Idols
and whether he fell in love with what he saw there (the gardens)
a world away from the madness of the world
and the secrets he culled from the Highest One
about life, death, heavens and hell that help
us wade through the sea of ignorance to enlightenment

I would love to live with the tribes, wild men
of the South seas, learn about their hungry gods and sacrifices
perhaps then i could tell good from evil,
the gods from the devils and the truth from the lies
or perhaps live a life free from the One up there
recognising man's unreadiness, unworthiness for him yet
take and love people from that corner of the heart
that we all possess, starting from the Almighty's simplest lesson
a real eastern ballad i long to sing to the world

inspired by

An Eastern Ballad
I speak of love that comes to mind:
The moon is faithful, although blind;
She moves in thought she cannot speak.
Perfect care has made her bleak.
I never dreamed the sea so deep,
The earth so dark; so long my sleep,
I have become another child.
I wake to see the world go wild.

Submitted: Wednesday, April 27, 2005
Edited: Wednesday, May 05, 2010

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