Monday, November 17, 2008

Ts Bavuudorj

for the Taiwanese poet Yu Hsi

Grass, growing in the east
in yellow waves, and
kneeling and bowing
for so long
to the exalted east.
I place my aching head
upon its warm breast.
It strokes my brow
with its yellowing fingers,
my tears falling thicker and thicker,
covering the silksoft lichen.
An inner suffering
rides upon waves
into the east,
marking my warm body,
and grasshoppers flock
into the silent aeons,
dispersing the light
at the final moment of rest…
And for some time yet to come,
its face unchanging
in golden waves, there will be
grass, growing in the east.



To touch the silvern collar
of the beauty, dozing,
was my eternal desire,
and my own silver verses
lit the way like a candle.
My own dear love herself
had fashioned the portentous evening moon,
and, moved by the moment,
I offered a joyful candle,
an ancient prayer, to the Buddha,
while silence filled the spaces
between joyful leaves.
But still more desires
pain the shameless vagrant…
I touch the silvern neck
of the beauty, dozing,
but my eternal desire stays unfulfilled.
I touch her lips…

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