4. soil. red.
our looks are homeless
the body remembers everything
departing from the temple
house for migratory birds

one should sit still for days.
be quiet with his eyes closed. but
be awake and observe.
for days on end one should, bit by bit,
patiently sharpen up the mind.
not let even a scratch under the nose
fly off, not even a dimple
along the back, a shimmer of the nerve
from the top of the head to the heels.
one should stand on the side and
observe. bereft of passion of a supporter.
free of judgment. no stone cast. no wrath,
but no joy either. free of yearning. just as is.
prostrate. without the space and the time.

and only then can one start.

for the body remembers everything.
even the fear of your mother
as you were turning in
her womb.

2018-08-21T17:23:49+00:00 November 2nd, 2000|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 98|0 Comments