still hungers, whines, and weeps;
with cracks through greyness of its face,
that morning nighs,
that evening squirms,
too early rise,
that itself keeps.
ahead, presents a lotus bloom,
petals: whites and pinks,
whose roots anchor earthly womb,
through transcendental earthly links.
though one so large of bud and fruit,
can host a human style -
a yellow-shrouded guide to moot,
and listen, stay a while.
the gongs are sing, the hymns are chant,
and prayer beads are ticking down;
that nourish for the lotus plant,
help sift the silted ground.
should let the leaf float tranquil 'bove,
the murky pond where red dove calls;
that brings the message of truest love,
but, silence, here sounds bare footfalls.
a day of fast, though slow it wanes,
with toiling hands, and speechless names,
just like the lotus for belief,
a man has turned his own green leaf.
but now the sun is twilight beck,
should twinkle through the star-struck days;
and craning does its woeful neck,
this experience has been but a daze.
behind, i leave this templestay,
a gift, a present, a mere today;
but should the years be kind and calm, will once a stay leave marks resound;
that wards against all worldly harm, 'til body leaves, and soul be found.
