The Song of My Lifespring
No way for streams to ever return − it’s not allowed −
to their fountainheads, to their wellsprings − as vowed −
under any disguise but that of a cloud.
No way for pathways to ever return − it’s not allowed −
to their trailheads, to their roots − as vowed −
under any disguise unless yearning-bowed.
Oh, pathways and streams, yearnings and clouds,
what will I be when I return − though unavowed −
to my birthplace, to my lifespring − as vowed − ?
Will I be a yearning then ? Will I be a cloud ?
The Soul of the Village
Little girl, put your hands on my knees.
I think eternity was born in the village.
Hereabouts every thought ripens more leisurely,
and your heart beats unhurriedly,
as if it didn’t dwell in your chest
but somewhere in the earth’s unfathomable depths.
Hereabouts your thirst for redemption is quenched
and, if your wounded feet are bleeding,
you may have a rest on a clay porch.
Look around, it’s evenfall.
The soul of the village is fluttering all over,
like the bashful smell of freshly-cut grass,
like the smoke lowering down from the thatched roofs,
like the goat kids gambolling among tall tombstones.
I Crave to Dance !
Oh, how I crave to dance, like never before !
So that Lord God within myself
should not perceive me as a bondsman −
shackled in a prison.
Mother Earth, lend me wings :
I crave to be an arrow, to cleave
to behold nothing else but heavens all around,
the skies above,
and the skies below −
thus impassioned by the blazing waves of light
scintillating from unsurpassed impetuses
so that Lord God should exhilaratingly breathe in me,
no longer grumbling,
“I am a bondsman, shackled in a prison !”
Might the light that I feel
overflowing my chest when I behold you,
might it be a droplet of the light
created on the very first day,
the athirst-quenching light deeper than life ?
Nothingness was lying in agony,
when the Inscrutable, solitarily hovering
in the darkness, made a sign,
“Let there be light !”
A wide sea
and a gusty lightstorm
came into being in a twinkling :
there was a crave for sins, desires, upsurges, passions,
a crave for worldliness and the heavenly sun.
Yet where has the dazzling light
of yore vanished − does anyone know ?
The light that I feel overflowing
my chest when I behold you − my marvel,
might be the last droplet
of the light created on the very first day.
English version by Gabriela PACHIA