Trance
Her fingers, the willow’s
Comb the pond’s hair.
A mirror in cupped palms
(Pristine water’s)
Shows Rumi
“Plato here”
He says; the trance
“And that is Socrates.”
He points at a man
Shoeless, Worn, Bum
“He is Shams.”
Waves dance the fish’s kiss
Single-footed Swan,
Rows, slowly
Very soft
Not far
A mother removes
Sweat of a sick child
The orphaned Prophets
In the absence of God
Stand still, powerless,
Their herds mal-fed
Scattered
“I hear voices”
Socrates says.
“Apology” Plato writes.
Sun stands firm
“I am the king.”
Earth disobeys
The sacred books,
Rome and the Pope
Xenophon writes “Apology”
Copernicus hides in wall
Galileo meets the ship’s deck
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem