Night spent in the temple of a patient God Poem by Bejan Matur

I

You chose your exile among rainswept mountains.


Where you lingered last night

was the home of the patient god

the home where a human is equipped with compassion.

No need for temples, I said.

This is simply a place.

The human soul must surely be a temple.

And rain the river of homelessness

reminds us of god and childhood.



II

You chose your exile among rainswept mountains.



The beauty of making mistakes

and the peace of pain.

Everything led you to emptiness.

And you, you looked at the pale flowers of patience and wept.

You slept in his arms as though nothing existed.

There shall be a journey made to the mountain and exile chosen.

And a human wanted from god.



We must listen again to that music.

That place was not meant for loving.

© translated by Ruth Christie