Sunday Poem: Buddhist Chronicles 8
In this poem, we stand with Siddhartha at the boundary between the world we know and the one that awaits our unfolding. What threshold invites you to step into your future today? How do you feel about it? Will you say yes to the call of the river?
At The Boundary: The River Anoma
You stand on my northern bank,
a lacerated young man, with tender-soled feet.
Your tears prick my skin;
droplets of salt swirl in secret eddies.
Do you know what you invoke, O prince?
I am as wide as the chasm between lives.
My waters erase the known world.
My ways are ancient
and hard. I dwindle mountains into pebbles
round and smooth as pearls.
There is no immunity here.
Men have drowned in these currents.
You hack off your hair with a sword, leave it blowing
like straw on my flanks. But that which you sever
once you step into my belly
will bleed dark as rubies:
fearful, benevolent as death itself.
Loneliness will wear you down with the slow grinding
of millstones. Your mind will be drenched in fear
and hunger. You will twist in currents of longing
while fish nibble at your entrails.
Think well, before you enter my embrace.
Today’s poem is dedicated to the memory of P. K. Page, poet, artist, visionary, and my friend, whose death this week at age 93 has left poetry lovers bereft. I’m so grateful for the light of her passage through this earth.
As always, I’d love your company on this journey of poetic discovery. Please share your poems, insights, heart and humor in Comments. Our conversation draws us closer to the hearth-fire of community and connection.
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