eclectic mixer of Chan and Vedanta
the prayer wheel wobbles
on its wooden axis as it turns
the oak sound drones and
takes me far away
i float over
a new york street poet slamming
his rhyme between 12th and 13th
a tibetan monk hitting a gong vibrating
rippling up enchanting himalayas
a hymn delighting in Angola
a labour filled ditch axing away landmine
pot holes
in Bombay an old ash covered yogi
erfectly reciting sankrit sutras till
his eyes turn white in its sockets
somewhere in greece or maybe syria
The mandolin plays, a zither supports
and the lyre rips inside my tears
the prayer wheel wobbles
on its wooden axis as it turns
the silence returns and music is all around
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem