Roofed by Japanese temples and
Artificial light we stood. No rising
Sun from the east here. Rather from the east
wing. Our roof, as ornate as a geishas
Conversation is deceivingly simple,
Curled up at the four corners like a sultan's
Slippers towards a God though whose, I
Could not tell. I stood with a small worshipping
Mass whose saviour must be a giant eye
As the talisman's around their necks
Implied. Only I and my Buddha boy
Stood naked necked. His naked nape, bowed like
A lover's top lip and his shorn head, in
Danger of colliding with my hip, aimed
At our interest. A lady of the mass
With a voice like a bugled blare to send
The weary off to war, spoke. The small pool
Of water at the foot of the temple
We all penetrated with a glare (the
East know the importance of water, so
It's said) . At the pools edge she read aloud
The sign: 'Do not throw pennies as they might
Endanger the fish.' What fish we all wondered?
Then: 'Did I just see one scurry by? '
The question sent us all on a journey
And the ladies, camera eyes bouncing
Like bewildered demi-gods against
Ancient mountains, were off on the hunt.
'Do fish 'scurry'? '
'Is 'scurry' the word? '
'Who still says 'scurry'? '
'Well, what do fish do? '
The leaves of the Bodhi tree tickled his
Head, I could see. For silently, with fixed glare,
And all the aplomb of a cherry trees leaf
As it alights from its place, he whispered: 'swim'.
In an instant the light danced off the water
And rose and congealed a tight ball like a dying
Star. It ascended my face where the white
Heat thrust through my nostrils and the light
Flashed out my eyes. I staggered for a moment.
Blind and frightened, I leaned upon a pillar
And speculated: The superlative artist paints
Mount Fuji with a mere stroke of the wrist.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem