Prayer
Bark
Off the sycamore
Blown bye and bye.
Scattered ground.
Winds shift and slip,
Sketched in sky
Through the unyielding
Tales of time.
Seasons merge
And blend the bend
Of leaf and bow,
Till things stand exposed;
The rest, shriveled, mostly.
People pass through.
The same folks they disappear.
Seems we leave
Only memories
In another’s head.
The past numbs,
Not to worry.
It stops feeling so electric,
So shoved hard
To our surface.
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No, you’ll hardly be recalled.
We get hunched,
Brittle,
Rib snapped
And dumb.
We tend to survive.
Like the grip
Of a drug that just tightens;
Humans breathe
So blindly.
Your sermon.
Your temple.
Your stupa.
Your ashram.
Your four directions.
The last in your everlasting.
The reemergence in you reincarnation.
The spirit in spirit.
What if you have
The mystery wrong?
Now, I’ll take your story
Over my ending.
I don’t concede,
I lay belly up.
Something has to right
This blood filled brain.
