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Please Call Me By My True Names
Don't say that I will depart tomorrow--
even today I am still arriving.
Look deeply: every second I am arriving
to be a bud on a Spring branch,
to be a tiny bird, with still-fragile wings,
learning to sing in my new nest,
to be a caterpillar in a heart of a flower,
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.
I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry,
to fear and to hope.
The rhythm of my heart is the birth and death
of all that is alive.
I am a mayfly metamorphosing
on the surface of the river.
And I am the bird
that swoops down to swallow the mayfly.
I am a frog swimming happily
in the clear water of a pond.
And I am the grass-snake
that silently feeds itself on the frog.
I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,
my legs as thin as bamboo sticks.
And I am the arms merchant,
selling deadly weapons to Uganda.
I am the twelve-year old girl,
refugee on a small boat,
who throws herself into the ocean
after being raped by a sea pirate.
And I am the pirate,
my heart not yet capable
of seeing and loving.
I am a member of the politburo,
with plenty of power in my hands.
And I am the man who has to pay
his "dept of blood" to my people
dying slowly in a forced-labor camp.
My joy is like Spring, so warm
it makes flowers bloom all over the Earth.
My pain is like a river of tears,
so vast it fills the four oceans.
Please call me by my true names,
so I can hear all my cries and laughter at once,
so I can see that my joy and pain are one.
Please call me by my true names,
so I can wake up
and the door of my heart
could be left open,
the door of compassion.
_________________________________________________
Mudra
Don's listen to the poet.
In his morning coffee, there is a teardrop.
Don't listen to me.
Please don't.
In my morning coffee, there is a drop of blood.
Don't scold me, brother,
because I cannot swallow liquids.
The air in my lungs is frozen.
He said, "Let me weep through your eyes
because I no longer have eyes.
Let me walk on your feet.
because I have no feet."
With my hands
I am touching your nightmare.
He said, "I have been saved.
I need no more salvation."
Salvation is for us.
My hand on the table,
the universe remains silent.
The great ocean has never calmed her sobbing.
The five mountains maintain
the original positions of Sky and Earth.
Far above the Milky Way,
the secret of the universe reveals themselves.
Yet my right hand is in the table--
waiting for humankind to wake up.
No, my hand will never turn over on this table
like the half-shell
balancing on the shore,
like corpse of a man struck down by a bullet.
Mountain and river are overthrown.
Celestial bodies are out,
and the great ocean ceases its everlasting murmur.
My hand is still on the table,
and the five mountains,
still dominate.
The secret has not been revealed.
The celestial bodies go on conversing with each other.
My hand is still on the table,
waiting for the moment
to reverse the balance of Sky and Earth--
my hand,
this small hand,
is like a mountain.
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