At Lushan Temple

Poem: Ching An (1851-1912)

[Golden Autumn]


At Lushan Temple
In the shimer of distance
the bell speaks pure Sanskrit
seeing off the slanting sun.

Secret, silent
blossoms beaneth
the overhanging cliffs
send their fragrance on the stream.

In the single wind chime at the temple's eaves
the wind speaks for itself.

Before my window, ten thousand trees,
the rain's the first Fall chill.

The hills, locked in cloud essence,
pry into my purity.

The river carries the ancient sound of the billows
all the way to the sea.

I won't admire the thousand-year crane
that nests the ageless pine.

He doesn't know that in the human world
groves turn into seas.

Mute Love

A burning bay leaf

waiting for a day

when the green lemon grass

will whisper

"I love you "

today tomorrow passed

dawn after dawn

night after night,

springs passed winter too,

Bay leaf lost his splendour,

brought finally to grocer's shop,

red chilly , black pepper too

and bought by sky high spinster,

thrown into plastic prison.

Distance wailed in the

lemon grass heart,

Tearful dreams dried

in the bay leaf life,

in between gaping sighs

and bone less sky.

@ Amiyo