prayer wheel turning...
naming the nameless,
the forgotten, the
left behinds...
the throwaways.
counting every grain
of sand,
every dropp of water.
sweeping the inner rooms
of the self.
undressing the mind
and its passions.
holding the thorn
in an open hand.
diving naked and deeply
into life...
without holding back!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is just gorgeous, Eric. Once I had a real Tibetan prayer wheel. It had little slips of prayers on this satin like fabric inside (I couldn't read it) . It made me appreciate the Tibetan religion more probably. It was a beautiful thing too.